Neville, The Boy Who Lived
by Skye Phoenix Dove
Summary: Two possible heroes of the prophecy. Voldermort chose Harry Potter. What if he chose Neville? Rated T because I'm paranoid.
1. The Boy Who Lived

**I had this idea from when Harry said: "Had Voldemort chosen Neville, it would be Neville sitting opposite Harry bearing the lightning-shaped scar and the weight of the prophecy. . . and a scarless Harry who would have been kissed good-bye by his own mother, not Ron's?"**

**So I wrote this. Many parts of the story will be near identical to J.K. Rowling's work.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: All rights go to J.K. Rowling**

* * *

Neville Longbottom, The Philosopher's Stone, Chapter 1: The Boy Who Lived

A man walked into the room. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Dumbledore noticed a tabby cat at his windowsill and laughed. "I should have known." he said, as he opened the window for the cat to come in.

He sat down on the chair next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it. "Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked. "My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly. In any case, I doubt even a cat would have gotten through the protective barriers."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day, " said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily. "Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right, " she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no - even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She paused to check that Dumbledore was still listening to her. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... Shooting stars... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent - I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them, " said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that, " said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors." She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so, " said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a sherbet lemon?"

"A what?"

"A sherbet lemon. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of"

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for sherbet lemons. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone —"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense — for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort. " Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two sherbet lemons, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't, said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know— oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too — well — noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting for him to return all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she ever fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever 'everyone' was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another sherbet lemon and did not answer.

"What they're saying, " she pressed on, "Is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. Since he couldn't get the Potters, he went for the Longbottoms first. The rumor is that Alice and Frank Longbottom are — are — that they're — dead."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped. "Alice and Frank... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..."

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know... I know..." he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill their son, Neville. But — he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Neville Longbottom, Voldemort's power somehow broke — and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's — it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done... All the people he's killed... He couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding... Of all the things to stop him... But how in the name of heaven did Neville survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "James is late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, not doing anything?"

"Neville Longbottom will be just fine." he told her. "He will be living with the Potters."

"The Potters?" she asked in surprise. "But why? Wouldn't it make more sense for him to go live with his own family?"

"He is safe for now." said Dumbledore firmly. "James and Lily will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written a letter for him to read then."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall incredulously. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? He'll never understand the whole! Besides, by then he'll be famous — a legend — I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Neville Longbottom day in the future — there will be books written about Neville - every child in our world will know his name!"

"Exactly, " said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't evenremember! Can't you see how much better off he'll be, growing up where he'll be treated normally, away from all that until he's ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, thought about it, nodded and then said, "Yes — yes, you'r right of of course. But how is the boy getting there, Dumbledore?"

"Sirius is bringing him."

"You think it — wise — to trust Sirius with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Sirius thoroughly, " said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place, " said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to — what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and out the window for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky — and a black motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the roof below them. The man sitting astride it was rather thin but quite muscular. He had a bird's nest of messy black hair, old-fashioned round glasses slightly-askew, and a metal jar in his hand. He quickly jumped off the motorcycle and climbed up to towards the window.

"James," said Dumbledore, sounding surprised. "How unexpected. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore," said the man, climbing carefully through the window as he spoke. "Sirius lent it to me."

"No problems, were there?" Dumbledore asked anxiously.

"No, Professor, Sirius got him to me fine. He fell asleep as were flying over Bristol."

"Then why did you come here?"

"I needed to get to you quickly." he said placing the metal jar on the table. "It wasn't Remus, Professor, it was Peter. He came over tonight, we were actually going to change secret-keepers at the last minute as a desperate strategy," Professor McGonagall raised her eyebrows at this. "But then all this came up, he showed up anyway, and I saw his left arm, Professor! He has a Dark Mark!"

"Peter?" asked Professor McGonagall. "That's preposterous."

"It's true." said James, tapping the jar. "I trapped him in here, so I'll leave him to you. Oh, and Peter's a rat animagus, so he may try to escape with that advantage."

Professor McGonagall stopped him before he reached the window. "Well that's all news, but how's little Neville?"

James smiled. "He's fine. He's sleeping with Harry in his crib tonight. Oh, he's got this weird scar," he looked to Dumbledore, "On his forehead, shaped like a bolt of lightning. It that where— ?"

"Yes, " said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?" asked Professor McGonagall.

"Even if I could, I wouldn't." James raised an eyebrow. "Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is aperfect map of the London Underground."

James stared. "I did not need to know that. Well, I'll best be going or Lilly will have my skin. Goodbye Professor Dumbledore, Professor Minnie!"

Professor McGonagall didn't bother to correct him and watched the motorcycle fade away into the sky. "He acts so calm even with Alice and Frank gone."

"James has always been good at hiding — or dramatizing — his emotions." amended Dumbledore.

"Yes, well, I suppose I'll go now." she said sadly, starting towards the door instead of the window.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall, " said Dumbledore, nodding to her. ProfessorMcGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back to close the window. He could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner on the street outside. "Good luck, Neville, " he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

Back at the Potter Manor, Neville Longbottom rolled over under his blanket without waking up. One small hand clicked the lights off and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by a woman that was not his mother, nor that he would spend the next few weeks living lavishly with his best friend Harry... He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Neville Longbottom — The Boy Who Lived!"

* * *

**Reviews make me happy!**


	2. Preparing For Hogwarts

**Hi! Next chapter's here! Don't expect me to update constantly, please, 'cause I don't.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: All rights go to J.K. Rowling**

* * *

Neville Longbottom, The Philosopher's Stone, Chapter 2: Preparing For Hogwarts

Ten long years had passed in the Potter Manor. Yet the relationship between the two little boys in the house was no better nor worse than it had been before.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Get the mail, Neville."

"You get the mail, Harry."

"No you get it."

"No you get it."

"You get it."

"You get it."

"You get it."

"You get it."

"You get it."

"You get it."

"You get it."

"You get it."

"I can do this all day."

"Ugh, fine!"

Neville climbed out of his nice, warm, cozy bed and over to the window where a sleek spotted owl was tapping away.

He fed it some caramel candies (the best muggle sweet in the world) and untied the two letters from it's legs.

Neville stood at the window, staring at the letters, even as the owl flew away and out of sight.

Two envelopes, thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. Turning an envelope over, his hand term ling with excitement, he saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H.

Mr. N. Longbottom  
The bedroom on the third floor  
Potter Manor  
Godric's Hollow  
Coventry

And the other:

Mr. H. Potter  
The bedroom on the third floor  
Potter Manor  
Godric's Hollow  
Coventry

"Harry! Harry!" he yelled, even though Harry was only a few feet away from him. Harry screamed and fell off the bed.

"Merlin, Neville, what is it?" he asked as he tugged his not-so-warm-anymore blankets back around him.

"Our Hogwarts letters are here, Harry!" he yelled, still high on excitement.

Harry gaped in astonishment.

"We're going to Hogwarts! We're going to Hogwarts!" the two boys sang as they raced down the six flights of stairs arm in arm.

"What was that, boys?" asked Lily innocently.

"Yes, you should have sung louder." said James from where he was reading the Quibbler. "I don't think they heard you in Bulgaria.

Harry laughed at his father's humor and Lily simply rolled her eyes.

"Mum, we got our Howarts letters!" yelled Harry. In living in a house as big as the Potter Manor, being brought up by adults that were younger than most, both boys found it almost impossible to make a point without yelling as loud as they could.

Lily grinned at the boys. "That's wonderful."

Neville was positively beaming as he ate his breakfast. He was magic enough to go there after all!

"Well of course you would have gotten to go, they wouldn't have just let The Boy Who Lived stay at home without education, would they?" commented Harry. He mimed holding a microphone. "We're here today with the amazing Neville Longbottom who single-handedly defeated The Dark Lord when he was only a toddler! Neville, can you give us a demonstration?"

Neville, although still a bit red, laughed and played along to his best friend's dramatics."Oh, I couldn't do that, you see, I'm practically a squib and can barely do magic!"

Harry widened his eyes mockingly. "Tell us then, how you survived."

Neville rolled his eyes."Oh, alright, a bit of advice. It's easy to block the Avada Kedavra without magic. You see a big green light coming your way and DUCK!" he yelled, making Lily cover her ears and roll her eyes as all the boys laughed.

Neville suddenly felt one of his weird flashbacks. A laugh, a scream, then lots of green light.

"Last night, I dreamed I was the one who defeated him instead." said Harry. "Only I was fifteen, not a toddler, so could actually remember. It was weird. I think I hit him in the neck with a bludger." Neville couldn't help laughing at that image.

"I had a dream last night." he said suddenly. "I was flying. On a motorbike— I mean, a motorcycle. It was flying." he emphasized.

Harry suddenly seemed very excited, like his ADHD was acting up again. "That must have been Padfoot's motorcycle! Dad that's not fair! How come Neville got to ride it and I didn't? I want to ride it too!"

Neville rolled his eyes. "I didn't really ride it, did I?" he was suddenly uncertain. "It was just a dream."

James laughed. "Well, since your birthday is coming up, we could ask Padfoot to—"

"No!" said Lily. "The boys are not going to ride with SIRIUS at only eleven."

Harry and Neville opened their mouths to object but decided against it.

"Have you actually read your letters?" asked Lily.

Realizing they hadn't, Harry burst into laughter whereas Neville was rather worried. What if it wasn't his acceptance letter at all? What if it said something like, I know you thought you could come but you can't?

Lily, sensing his discomfort, opened Neville's first, and found that he needn't have worried.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster:  
ALBUS DUMBLEDORE  
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Longbottom,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft andWizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,  
Minerva McGonagall,  
Deputy Headmistress

And so on for Harry.

"Oh! Could we go to Diagon Ally today?" pleaded Harry.

"Kids, I'm supposed to report to the Auror office today…"

Neville gave him the big-round-puppy-dog eyes and Harry followed his lead.

"Aw, how can I say no that face?" said James with a slight laugh.

"It's quite simple, really, I say it to the boys all the time." said Lily, knowing she was fighting a losing battle.

"Just let me make a call." said James. "You boys go get ready."

"Harry!"

"What?"

"Stop trying to brush your hair! You're fighting a losing battle there!"

Harry gave him a scatting look. "It's not my fault it's—"

"I know, I know, part of the Potter Curse! Everyone knows that so it doesn't matter!" said Neville, feeling frustrated with him.

"Fine." said Harry as he set down his comb and followed Neville down the stairs again. "By the way, you know you've actually got a cousin that's a redhead in the year below us—"

"Don't you start that again! Flirt with her when you actually meet her, or preferably when you're fifteen!" he groaned.

Harry laughed and Neville would have slammed right into the wall if Harry hadn't held him back.

"Come on, boys!" called James. He ushered them out to the backyard where they jumped into the new Ferrari.

"Diagon Ally, here we come." said James, turning the dial as he slammed the car shut from the inside. "Buckle your seat belts."

There was no movement, no change in momentum, but the images outside the window went crazy, spinning and swirling and zooming along so fast that it was all just a blur of colors. When it stopped, they were right near a muggle underground.

"Right." said James with a smile. "Do me a favor and don't tell Lily that, alright? She thinks I'm bringing you here using Floo."

Neville laughed. Both of the Potters hated the Floo. They ALWAYS broke their glasses and their already messy hair got even more tangled. Harry glared at him. They lived together so long they could practically read each other's minds.

James led them into a small pub, "The Leaky Cauldron." Harry whispered.

"Hello James." said the old man behind the bar. "Would you like anything?"

James smiled, even though it did not quite reach his eyes, and placed his hands on each boy's shoulders while shaking his head.

"Good Lord, " said the bartender, peering at Neville, "is this — can this be —?" The Leaky Cauldron had suddenly gone completely still and silent. "Bless my soul, " whispered the old bartender, "Neville Longbottom... What an honor." He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Neville and seized his hand, tears in his eyes.

"Welcome back, Mr. Longbottom, welcome back. "

Neville knew by now not to say anything, anything he said would make him look to weak or too proud. But he was still uncomfortable with everyone was looking at him. An old woman with a pipe at the corner was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out. Harry was beaming. Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Neville found himself shaking hands with everyone in the Leaky Cauldron.

"Doris Crockford, Mr. Longbottom, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"So proud, Mr. Longbottom, I'm just so proud."

"Always wanted to shake your hand — I'm all of a flutter. "

"Delighted, Mr. Longbottom, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle. "

"I've seen you before!" said Neville, as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. "You bowed to me once in a muggle shop."

"He remembers!" cried Dedalus Diggle, looking around at everyone. "Did you hear that? He remembers me!" Neville shook hands again and again — Doris Crockford kept coming back for more.

A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching. "Professor Quirrell." said James, tightening his grip on Neville's shoulder. "Neville, Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts. "

"L-L-Longbottom, " stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping Neville's hand, "c-can't t-tell you how p- pleased I am to meet you. "

"It's Neville, really." he said airily, aware that the whole shop was watching him. "Longbottom is such a mouthful, and awfully cliché at that."

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?" asked Harry, rather coldly.

"D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts, " muttered Professor Quirrell, as though he'd rather not thinkabout it. "N-not that you n-need it, eh, N-Ne-Neville?" He laughed nervously. "You'll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself. " He looked terrified at the very thought. But the others wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Neville to himself, or leave him alone, unfortunately.

It took almost ten minutes to getaway from them all. At last, James managed to make himself heard over the babble. "We must get on, there's loads to do. Come on' boys." Doris Crockford shook Neville's hand one last time, and James led them through the bar and out into a small, walled courtyard, where there was nothing but a trash can and a few weeds.

Neville turned to Harry. "You were awfully rude to Professor Quirrell." he said, raising an eyebrow.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I don't like him." he stated, as if it wasn't obvious enough. "There's something about him that just irks me off. Besides the part that his stammering was just plain unnatural. What house was he in, Dad? It must have been Hufflepuff, he couldn't possibly be so unconfident and NOT be a Hufflepuff."

James didn't answer. He was shaking his head and staring at the wall.

"Three up and two across, Dad!" said Harry in a slightly exasperated manner, over-dramatizing as always.

"I suppose someone thought it would be funny to move the trash can." groaned James. He began counting from the ground.

"But did you see the way everyone was swarming all over you all like, 'Omigod! The Boy Who Lived just LOOKED at me!' It was so cool. I wish I could be that famous!" Harry was saying.

"You want to be famous like that?" Neville asked him. "Famous basically because your parents die?"

"Well, obviously not like that." he said, becoming more serious. "Honestly, Neville, you're not getting into THAT again, are you? Your parents died for you but it wasn't your fault, alright? And for the record—"

A brick on the wall was quivering — it wriggled — in the middle, a small hole appeared — it grew wider and wider — a second later they were facing a huge archway, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said James, "to Diagon Alley."

Two seconds later, both boys were running through the streets yelling, "This is amaziiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!"

Harry nudged Neville and he looked quickly over his shoulder in time to see the archway shrink instantly back into solid wall.

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the first shop. Cauldrons — All Sizes — Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver — Self-Stirring — Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.

Neville turned his head in every direction as they ran up the street, trying to look at everything at once: the shops, the things outside them, the people doing their shopping.

There were shops selling robes, shops selling telescopes and assortments of silver instruments, some of which neither boy had ever seen before, windows stacked with barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles and globes of the moon.

A plump woman outside an Apothecary was shaking her head as they stared in saying, saying, "Dragon liver, seventeen Sickles an ounce, they're mad..."

A low, soft hooting came from a dark shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium - Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy, like Soren.

They came to a stop outside a shop where several boys of about their age had their noses pressed against a window with the displayed broomsticks in it. "Look, " Neville heard one of them say, "the new Nimbus Two Thousand — fastest ever—"

"NEVER run off like that again, okay boys?" said James, grabbing on to them and panting.

Harry grinned. "I won't if I can have that new broom. Please, Daddy, please please please?"

Neville laughed. "What about me? My broom is still broken from the time you hit a bludger at it, and Reparo isn't helping!"

James sighed. "Boys, focus, can you check your lists now?"

Neville hurriedly pulled his letter from his pocket and sighed in relief that he hadn't lost it.

"Aw, man!" said Harry. "I left it on the table next to my comb! Why can't I ever remember these things?!"

"You're always so forgetful, Harry." said Neville with a grin as he unfolded his list.

"HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY," he read loud. "UNIFORM, First-year students will require: 1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)"

"That doesn't sound very nice." said Harry with a frown. "Couldn't we wear green? Or red? Or silver, I suppose, in Neville's case."

Neville gave him a serious look. "My eyes are grey, not silver."

"They are too." said Harry. "They sparkle."

"2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear. Really?" asked Neville.

"We don't actually wear them." said James.

"Then what's the point?" asked Harry.

"Don't ask me, I didn't make the list."

"3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)"

"For dealing with dangerous substances in potions. Professor Snape told me about them." said Harry.

"Right, and we don't need to get those because he bought you each a pair on your last birthday." said James.

"4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)" Neville frowned. "What's with all the black? It's like they actually want us to support Voldermort. Makes the school look dark."

"Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags."

Harry grinned. "Great! We can swap all the time, just like always. The teachers will be so confused. This is going to be great."

Neville laughed and kept going. "COURSE BOOKS, All students should have a copy of each of the following: The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk, A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot,"

"Bumbly Bathilde?" asked Harry. "She wrote 'Hogwarts, A History'?"

"It appears so." said Neville, finding it hard to imagine their scatter-brained neighbor being the writer of one of Harry's favorite books.

"Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling, A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emetic Switch, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore, Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander, The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble." he paused. "That isn't a very good Defense book."

Harry snorted. "See? Quirrell doesn't know what he's doing."

Neville had to agree with Harry. Quentin Trimble wasn't necessarily bad, but he wasn't very knowledgable.

"OTHER EQUIPMENT: Wand," they looked at each other in excitement. "Cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) set, Glass or crystal phials, Telescope set, Brass scales."

Neville's face fell. "Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad. Oh no! Does that mean I can't bring Trevor?"

"Of course you can!" said Harry. "You have to! Dad, you need to write and tell Hogwarts to make allowances for one flying squirrel NOW."

James simply gave Neville a reassuring pat on the head, "Don't worry, you can bring your flying squirrel." Neville sighed in relief, the thought of not bringing Trevor had quite worried him.

He glanced back at the list. "PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS."

"No fair!" said Harry.

"I agree." said James. "But the good new is that this means you don't need new broomsticks."

Harry sighed. As did Neville.

"Wipe off those frowns." he said. "Why don't we start with your robes and I'll go get your other things."

"Okay." they chorused.

"Crystal vials ["Technically, mine are quartz."], plain old cauldron ["It's polished, Harry, I would hardly call that old!"], what about everything else, Dad?"

Neville shook his head. "We've already got Modern Galactica Telescopes from Remus, remember? And we're on our way to Olivers now."

Harry grinned. "Ollivanders, Neville! O-li-van-ders!"

"You don't have to rub your perfect memory in, Harry." he grumbled. "But James, what about our scales? Don't we need some?"

"You've already got bronze ones at home." he answered. "The school agrees those would be fine."

This troubled Neville. He hated it when kids saw his expensive things and immediately pegged him as a snob.

"Bronze looks just like brass, Neville." Harry said, probably recognizing the look on his best friend's face. "Just a bit more marble and shiny. Admittedly, no one lower class is going to tell the difference. Really, though, I'm not sure what you hate so much about being different."

Neville rolled his eyes and was about to make a comment when they entered Ollivanders.

Ollivander's shop was the last one, narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B. C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window.

A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that James sat on to wait. Neville felt strangely as though he had entered a very strict library; he swallowed a lot of new questions that had just occurred to him and looked instead at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. For some reason, the back of his neck prickled. The very dust and silence in here seemed to tingle with some secret magic.

"Good afternoon, " said a soft voice. Both boys jumped. James must have jumped, too, because there was a bump and an 'ow!' and he ended up on the floor.

An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello, " said Harry boldly. "You must be Mr. Ollivander."

"Ah yes, " said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you both soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." Mr. Ollivander moved to Neville. Neville almost wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy. "Your mother preferred ebony, stiff, elven and a half inches long. And your father, on the other hand, favored a blackthorn wand. Ten inches. Rather bendy. Well, I say your father favored it — it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."

Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Neville were almost nose to nose. Harry stood protectively next to him. Both boys could see themselves reflected in those misty eyes. "And that's where..." Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Neville's forehead with a long, white finger, making him flinch. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it, " he said softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands... Well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do..." He shook his head and then, to their relief, spotted James.

"James! James Potter! How nice to see you again... Mahogany, eleven inches, pliable, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes, " said James.

"Good wand, that one. More power and excellent for transfiguration." said Mr. Ollivander.

Neville and Harry snickered behind his back.

"Yes, yes," said James, giving them the 'shut up' look. "We really need to get going, though." he added hopefully.

"Oh, yes." said Mr. Ollivander. "Well, now — Let's start with Mr. Potter, shall we. " He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?"

"I'm ambidextrous," said Harry airily.

Ollivander blinked. "Well then, hold out your right arm. That's it. " He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons."

Harry was mocking a yapping hand at Ollivander as he spoke.

"No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand." Neville suddenly noticed that the tape measure, which was measuring between Harry's nostrils, was doing this on its own. Mr. Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do, " he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave." Harry took the wand and gave it a professional wave before shaking his head.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try—" Harry gave back the wand — "Hm... ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out." Harry didn't wave it. Instead, he pointed it up in the air and red and gold sparks shot out from it like a fireworks display.

James grinned. "I sense another Gryffindor."

Ollivander smiled and passed him the empty box. "Yes, yes, very good. Shall we do you now, Mr. Longbottom?"

Two hundred wands later and they still hadn't left the shop.

"Palm and dragon heartstring— no."

"Pine and phoenix feather — no."

"Blackthorn and unicorn — no."

Neville wasn't bothering to actually wave the wand anymore. He just sat there as Ollivander kept passing him wands and snatching them back.

The annoying thing was how the more wands Mr. Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become. "Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere — I wonder, now — yes, why not — unusual combination — holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple."

Neville wasn't really listening, but he felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a silver-blue sparks shot from the end and trailed around like enchanted ribbons, throwing dancing sparkles onto the walls. Harry whooped and yelled, "Finally!" and James stopped snoring and clapped and Mr. Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well... How curious... How very curious..."

"Sorry, " said Neville, he didn't like people talking about him right there without him understanding what they were saying. "but what's curious?" Mr. Ollivander fixed him with his pale stare, causing Harry to step protectively back again.

"I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr. Longbottom ["It's Neville, sir, really"]. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother why, its brother gave you that scar." Neville swallowed. That was a new bit of information. "Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Longbottom... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great."

Mr. Ollivander bowed them from his shop.

"I don't think I like Mr. Ollivander too much." remarked Harry. "Too philosophical."

"He's odd." Neville put in. "Memorizing the entire of 'Hogwarts, A History' is one thing, Harry, but can you imagine memorizing the material, core, and pliability of almost every wand in England?"

"No." admitted Harry. "I still think he's dotty, though."

"Very." Neville agreed.

* * *

**Reviews make me happy!**


	3. Finally To Hogwarts

**I've updated! A lot of stuff in this fic is going to be super unrealistic but please bear with me.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: All rights go to J.K. Rowling**

* * *

Neville Longbottom, The Philosopher's Stone, Chapter 3: Finally To Hogwarts

Neville and Harry spent their last month counting down the days on all tweny-four calenders around the house.

Besides that they just did the usual.

Magic. They enjoyed the luxerious life of freely practicing magic.

Pranks. Planning hundreds and hundreds of pranks to do at Hogwarts that they would probably never actually do.

Studying. Both boys spent hours pouring over their family trees, memorizing potions and spells, reciting lines from Magical Maladies. And, in Harry's case, memorizing his every course book along the way.

Then there was Quidditch. Lots of it. Harry would play Chaser, which Neville thought rather fit him, as Harry could never get enough attention. Neville played Seeker, often ducking out and staying invisible until his moment. Of course, most of the time it was just the two of them, so both boys learned how to play every position at once quite well.

And they would spend ages with their pets, feeding them and training them and playing with them.

And besides all that, they would sometimes find themselves back at their natural habitat, the couch. Harry would lie there reading 'Hogwarts, A History' for just about the millionth time. Neville would turn on the radio, pick up his guitar, and play along to whatever song happened to be on.

This was what happened every single day. They would debate getting up for hours before actually doing it, eat breakfast, study, practice magic, play Quidditch, eat lunch, study, talk, quadruple-check the calendars, play Quidditch, study, play a board game, study, eat dinner, play a card game, discuss current events, talk, wind up on the couch, and eventually go to bed.

So really, it was a miracle that they lasted the month.

Despite all their waiting and 'careful preparation', it wasn't until the morning of September first that they actually realized it was nearing the time to leave for Hogwarts.

In fact, the two boys may never have noticed if Neville had not...

"What was that crash?"

He peeked out from under his blanket. "I think it was the alarm clock." Then he caught sight of the calendar.

"Harry! Harry! It's September first! We're going to miss the train!"

"What!?" yelled Harry, jumping out of bed.

Today, they did not spend ages trying to comb their hair or try on several different combinations of clothes before going downstairs. Today, they threw all their essentials in their trunks (cloaks, books, guitar, telescopes, Quidditch sets, pet food, pranking kits, extra quills...) and slide down the banister instead of skipping down the stairs.

Today, they go to Hogwarts.

"Kids, the train doesn't leave until eleven o'clock." groaned James as he trudged down the stairs.

"I think it's nice that they're early for a change." said Lily, smiling wearily as she poured maple syrup on the cereal and and put the pancakes in the bowl of milk.

"Mom, I don't like my cereal with honey." said Harry.

"It's maple syrup." said Neville, enjoying his soaked pancakes.

James proceeded to wipe his glasses with the newspaper.

"Dad..." said Harry.

Lily put her book in the fridge and began reading her carton of milk.

"Mom..." said Harry.

Neville catapulted a spoonful of cereal into Harry's hair.

"Hey!" yelled Harry, shaking his head and messing up his hair even worse than before. "Neville!"

He grabbed a peanut-butter-slauntered pancake from Lily and lobbed it at Neville.

"No fighting." said Lily, proceeding to eat her plate with her eyes closed.

Neville ducked and threw a handful of Oreos at him.

Harry dodged and grabbed the milk carton from his mom before throwing it right at Neville.

He missed. It hit the table and burst into bits, splattering everyone with white processed milk.

"You bastard!" yelled Neville. He jumped on the table and emptied the entire box of cereal on Harry.

"Eek!" Harry shrieked. "Neville!"

He tackled him. They fell to the ground.

Neville couldn't really answer how the table got turned over, how the walls got completely covered in Ribena. Or most puzzling of all, how Lily and James remained in the exact same position, sitting in their chairs and snoozing away.

When they finally stopped was when they somehow reached the staircase two rooms away and were seconds away from dumping a bowl of jelly all over their trunks.

Neville could now truly survey the mess they had made. Wow. If it wasn't so early, he would be playing the funeral march right now.

Harry apparently had an idea to get them out of trouble (or into it, you could never really tell when dealing with Harry Potter).

"Dad, can we go to Disneyland?" he asked, putting on the full bambi-eyes charm that Neville could never manage.

James was immediately shaken out of his pleasant-looking nap. Lily's head drooped off her hand and fell into her bowl of orange juice. He gave an amused shake of the head to Harry (who actually had the nerve to look disappointed) and said the words of advice that Neville will forever use.

"Next time, kids, don't wake us up before four o'clock."

Although Lily and James did, Neville was too excited and nervous to go back to sleep, as was Harry (though he was just excited). They had on jeans and t-shirts (Neville's had a snitch in the middle and Harry's had a Pikachu), since they didn't want to walk into the station in their wizard's robes — they'll probably change on the train. Harry, as over-paranoid as he always was when he wasn't in a hurry, checked the Hogwarts list yet again to make sure they had everything they might need, saw that Soren and Trevor were fed and well, and then paced the room, waiting for his parents to get up and tell them it was time to leave while Neville lay on his bed making paper snowflakes. Usually, since they didn't have their brooms with them, they'll play Quidditch, but not when it was right before something as important as this. Harry wouldn't be able to concentrate. Still, not doing anything was probably driving his ADHD mind crazy.

Six hours later, James and Lily were still asleep.

"This is impossible." said Harry with finality. "If Mummy and Daddy won't wake up (and I know they won't!) then we're just going to have to call Padfoot for a ride."

Which is how Neville ended up in this situation. It was not necessarily good because they had disobeyed James and Lily and left without them in desperation to get to the train on time. It was not necessarily bad either because riding on Sirius' motorcycle again was definitely worth it.

Sirius had been coming to see them off anyway.

"You two okay?" he asked. Technically, they weren't riding on the motorcycle, they were riding in the sidecar, but it was still super scary and freaking awesome.

They reached King's Cross at half past ten. Sirius put Harry's and Neville's trunk onto a cart on top of each other's and wheeled it into the station for him. Sirius stopped between the two platforms.

"Well, kids, there you are. Platform nine — platform ten. Platform nine-and-three-quarters is literally somewhere in the middle, right beyond the—"

Neville purely blamed the dog. It was definitely all the dog's fault.

"Trevor, come back here!" he yelled as the small caramel squirrel let of his shoulder and glided through the crowd.

Neville ran after him, abandoning Harry for just about the first time since he could remember, and weaved his way through an entire family of redheads.

"Sorry, sorry, got to catch my squirrel!" he apologized as he ducked under an arm and jumped over a cart.

He wasn't looking where he was going, so he almost didn't notice when he ran right into the brick wall Sirius had been talking about.

Of course, he didn't really. Neville appeared on another platform and immediately slammed into someone.

He heard laughter, and looked up from the floor to see the identical faces of grinning mischief-makers (he'd seen that grin on Harry loads and sometimes wore it himself). The boys looked like they were from that family outside, so they were probably the Weasleys.

"Woah mate," said one. "You might want to watch what's in front of your eyes next time!"

"This your squirrel?" asked the other, holding out a hand with a very timid-looking Trevor clutched inside.

"Yeah." said Neville, accepting the first one's hand up. "Sorry I ran into you."

"No problem." said the second.

"What's that?" said the first twin suddenly, pointing at Neville's lightning scar.

"Blimey," said the other twin. "Are you...?"

"He is," said the first twin. "Aren't you?" he added to Neville.

"What?" said Neville, not really getting the question.

"Neville Longbottom,"chorused the twins.

"Oh, him," said Neville, then almost winced at how stupid that sounded. "I mean, yes, I am."

The two boys gawked at him, and tried to stop himself turning red. Then, to his relief, Harry bolted right into him.

"Neville!" he yelled, hugging him tightly, as if they had been apart for a few months and not just for a few hours.

"Come on," he told Neville. "Sirius is over there, Mum and Dad just showed up." and he pulled him away.

Neville gave the twins a friendly wave then turned his full attention back to Harry, and took a proper look around the platform.

A scarlet steam engine was waiting next to the platform which was packed with people. A sign overhead said Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock. Neville looked behind him and saw a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been, with the words Platform Nine and Three-Quarters on it, and random people walking out of it, so that was how to go through.

Smoke from the engine drifted over the heads of the chattering crowd, while cats of every color wound here and there between their legs. Owls hooted to one another in a disgruntled sort of way over the babble and the scraping of heavy trunks.

The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to their families, some fighting over seats.

They passed a boy with dreadlocks surrounded by a small crowd.

"Give us a look, Lee, go on."

The boy lifted the lid of a box in his arms, and Neville shrieked along with the people around him as something inside poked out a long, hairy leg.

"Hey Mum, Dad." said Harry, coming up to them.

"Had a nice ride, Neville?" asked James cheekily. Before he could answer, Lily cut in.

"You two are so grounded when you get back." was all she said before bending down to kiss them both goodbye.

"See you soon." said James, giving them a group hug.

Sirius gave them each a pat on the back. "Cause lots of mischief for me." he whispered to them. James subtly slipped Harry the Invisibility cloak and handed Neville the Marauders' Map behind their backs.

"We've put your trunks in that compartment there." said James, while Neville was hurriedly stuffing the map into his pocket. "Have fun."

"We will." promised Harry, winking at Sirius.

They yelled goodbye clambered up into the empty compartment near the end of the train.

They both sat down next to the window where, half hidden, he could noticed the red-haired family on the platform and could almost hear what they were saying. Their mother had just taken out her handkerchief.

"Ron, you've got something on your nose."

The youngest boy tried to jerk out of the way, but she grabbed him and began rubbing the end of his nose.

"Mom —" He wriggled free.

"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie?" said one of the twins.

"Shut up," said Ron.

"Where's Percy?" said their mother.

"He's coming now."

The oldest boy came striding into sight. He had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes, and Harry noticed a shiny silver badge on his chest with the letter P on it.

"Can't stay long, Mother," he said. "I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves —"

"Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?" said one of the twins, with an air of great surprise. "You should have said something, we had no idea."

"Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it," said the other twin. "Once —"

"Or twice —"

"A minute —"

"All summer —"

"Oh, shut up," said Percy the Prefect.

"How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?" said one of the twins.

"Because he's a prefect," said their mother fondly. "All right, dear, well, have a good term — send me an owl when you get there."

She kissed Percy on the cheek and he left. Then she turned to the twins.

"Now, you two — this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you've — you've blown up a toilet or —"

"Blown up a toilet? We've never blown up a toilet."

"Great idea though, thanks, Mom."

"It's not funny. And look after Ron."

"Don't worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us."

"Shut up," said Ron again. He was almost as tall as the twins already and his nose was still pink where his mother had rubbed it.

"Hey, Mom, guess what? Guess who we just met awhile ago?"

Neville leaned back quickly so they couldn't see him looking, but it might've been a giveaway that Harry was grinning at him widely. He'd obviously been listening as well.

"You know that brownish-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know who he is?"

"Who?"

"Neville Longbottom!"

Neville heard the little girl's voice.

"Oh, Mum, can I go on the train and see him, Mum, eh please..."

"You've already seen him, Ginny, and the poor boy isn't something you goggle at in a zoo. Is he really, Travis? How do you know?"

"Asked him. Saw his scar. It's really there — like lightning."

"Poor dear — I wonder who he's staying with now."

"Never mind that, do you think he remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?"

Their mother suddenly became very stern.

"I forbid you to ask him, Travis. No, don't you dare. As though he needs reminding of that on his first day at school."

"All right, keep your hair on."

A whistle sounded, and Trevor jumped up and flew out of their compartment.

"Trevor, no!" he yelled, trying to grab him.

"Hurry up!" their mother was saying, and the three boys clambered onto the train. They leaned out of the window for her to kiss them good-bye, and their younger sister began to cry.

"Don't, Ginny, we'll send you loads of owls."

"We'll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat."

"Connor!"

"Only joking, Mom."

The train began to move. Neville saw the boys' mother waving and their sister, half laughing, half crying, running to keep up with the train until it gathered too much speed, then she fell back and waved.

"Trevor!" he called.

"Relax, Neville." Harry said, worriedly. "Trevor wouldn't have been able to leave the train, we're going too fast. I'll go see if I can find any sign of him."

And just like that, Harry left.

For awhile, he reminded himself, just for a little while.

The door of the compartment slid open and the youngest redheaded boy came in.

"Anyone sitting there?" he asked, pointing at the seat opposite Neville. "Everywhere else is full."

Yeah right, he thought, it was probably just because he was The Boy Who Lived.

But Neville only smiled and shook his head and the boy sat down. He glanced at Neville and then looked quickly out of the window, pretending he hadn't looked. Neville noticed he still had a black mark on his nose but waited to mention it later.

"Hey, Ron."

The twins were back.

"Listen, we're going down the middle of the train — Lee Jordan's got a giant tarantula down there."

Neville almost shivered.

"Right," mumbled Ron.

"Neville," said the other twin, "did we introduce ourselves? Travis and Connor Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother."

"It's great to meet you." said Neville with the prankster grin he picked up from the Potters.

"You too." said Travis happily. "See you later, then."

"Bye," said Neville and Ron. The twins slid the compartment door shut behind them.

"Are you really Neville Longbottom?" Ron blurted out.

Neville nodded. "But seriously, don't call me that, I'll rather just be Neville. Longbottom is so... awkward." he wrinkled his nose at this.

"Oh — well, I thought it might be one of Travis and Conner's jokes," said Ron. "And have you really got — you know..."

He pointed at Neville's forehead.

Neville shook his hair a little and the lightning scar was exposed nicely as usual. Ron stared.

"So that's where You-Know-Who—"

"Yes," said Neville, "but I can't remember it."

"Nothing?" said Ron eagerly.

"Well — I remember a lot of green light, but not much else."

"Wow," said Ron. He sat and stared at Neville for a few moments, then, as though he had suddenly realized what he was doing, he looked quickly out of the window again.

"Are you nervous about starting Hogwarts?" asked Neville, who found it strangely endearing to finally meet Ron.

"Yes. I've got five older brothers, see," said Ron. For some reason, he was looking gloomy. "So I'm the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I've got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left — Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy's a prefect. Travis and Connor mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they're really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it's no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I've got Bill's old robes, Charlie's old wand, and Percy's mouse."

Ron reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small white rat, which seemed to be asleep.

"Her name's Cottonball and she's practically useless, she doesn't really do anything besides move around a bit and eat and sleep and stare at me with her big round eyes. Percy's old rat gave birth before it died (ew) and Cottonball was the only one that survived. He got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn't aff— I mean, I got Cottonball instead."

Ron's ears went pink. He seemed to think he'd said too much, because he went back to staring out of the window.

Neville didn't think there was anything wrong with not being able to afford an owl. "Cottonball is cute." he told Ron sincerely. "I have a flying squirrel, think you would know, but he's just gone missing again, though he'll probably turn up once he's sleepy."

"A flying squirrel?" asked Ron in awe. "They can actually fly?"

"No!" said Neville with a laugh. "They kind of glide, it's just that the people that discovered it thought it was flying, and the name kind of stuck. Trevor's just a regular muggle pet. I rescued him from a dog that was trying to kill him."

"That was pretty kind." said Ron. "I guess that's kind of your job, huh? Being The Boy Who Lived and all?"

"Not really." said Neville. "I was only seven then and was just taking pity on it. And until my tenth birthday, I didn't know anything about being The Boy Who Lived or much about my parents death or how I was connected to Voldermort—

Ron gasped.

"What?" said Neville, knowing very well what.

"You said You-Know-Who's name!" said Ron, sounding both shocked and impressed. "I'd have thought you, of all people —"

"Fear of the name only increases fear of itself," said Neville, "I'm not really trying to be brave or anything, though, this is just stuff I picked up from the Potters," he added, voicing for the first time something that had been worrying him a lot lately, "I bet I'm the worst in the class."

"You won't be. Even people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough." said Ron.

Neville couldn't help thinking that even the deepest of blood-traitors were pretty prejudiced.

"I'm practically a squib." said Neville, although thanks to Harry and his determination/paranoia, it wasn't quite true anymore.

"Oh, well, I'm sure you'll catch up." he said.

While they had been talking, the train had carried them out of London. Now they were speeding past fields full of cows and sheep. They were quiet for a time, watching the fields and lanes flick past.

Around half past twelve there was a great clattering outside in the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and said, "Anything off the cart, dears?"

Neville, who hadn't really had much breakfast, leapt to his feet, but Ron's ears went pink again and he muttered that he'd brought sandwiches. Neville resisted the urge to roll his eyes and went out into the corridor.

Neville had never had so much money to blow on candy before, and now that he had the freedom to buy as many Mars Bars as he could carry, he wanted to — but the woman didn't have Mars Bars. What she did have were and a number of strange wizard things Neville had never really favored in his life. Still, he got some of Bettie Bott's Every Flavor Beans (for Harry, he's never touch those himself), Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, and Licorice Wands, and paid the woman eight silver Sickles.

Ron stared as Neville brought it all back in to the compartment and tipped it onto an empty seat.

"Hungry, are you?"

"Not exactly," said Neville, taking a large bite out of a pumpkin pasty.

Ron had taken out a lumpy package and unwrapped it. There were four sandwiches inside. He pulled one of them apart and said, "She always forgets I don't like corned beef." then he looked up at Neville, confused. "You're not exactly hungry?"

"Well, if I'm to be providing for three or four, I'm sure this is enough." said Neville, sliding the pack of Chocolate Frogs over. "Go on. Have a Chocolate Frog."

"Oh, I couldn't, I—"

"Take one." Neville urged. "It's fine, really!"

It was a nice change, sitting there with Ron instead, eating their way through all the pasties, cakes, and candies (the sandwiches lay forgotten).

Neville unwrapped his Chocolate Frog and picked up the card. It showed a man's face. He wore half- moon glasses, had a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore.

"Dumbledore. Finally." said Neville with a smile. He turned over his card and read:

ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

CURRENTLY HEADMASTER OF HOGWARTS

Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times, Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling.

Neville turned the card back over and saw, to his astonishment, that Dumbledore's face had disappeared.

"He's gone!" he said, momentarily stunned.

"Well, you can't expect him to hang around all day," said Ron. "He'll be back. No, I've got Morgana again and I've got about six of her..."

Ron's eyes strayed to the pile of Chocolate Frogs waiting to be unwrapped.

"Help yourself," said Neville. "I'm not exactly used to that moving thing since I paint normal pictures a lot. But do you know in the Muggle world, people just stay put in photos?"

"Do they? What, they don't move at all?" Ron sounded amazed. "Weird!" he reached for another Chocolate Frog.

Neville noticed the smile pile of card in his hand. "Which ones are you looking for? I've got a pretty big collection."

Ron looked a bit embarrassed somehow, then said, "Agrippa and Ptolemy."

"Great." he said, tossing two of the cards onto Ron's lap. "I've got extras. You keep those."

Ron looked like he wanted to argue but thought the better of it.

The countryside now flying past the window was becoming wilder. The neat fields had gone. Now there were woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills.

"Where's Cottonball?" asked Ron suddenly. He turned left and right and found him snoozing behind their trunks.

"She's sweet, I agree, but she's not very fun." said Ron a little sadly as he put her on his lap again. "I tried to turn her yellow yesterday to make her more interesting, but the spell didn't work. I'll show you, look..."

He rummaged around in his trunk and pulled out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.

"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out. Anyway..."

He had just raised his wand when the compartment door slid open again. A girl stepped in with Harry following close behind. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.

"Is there a flying squirrel here?" she asked. She had a know-it-all sort of voice (like Harry did sometimes), lots of straight brown hair and deep hazel eyes.

"Nope," said Ron.

"No good." said Harry as he sat down next to Neville with a sigh. Noticing his worried look he said, "Don't worry. He'll turn up. We might just have to wait until he's a bit tired. You've trained him well so he'll probably follow you off the train."

Neville smiled at him. Ron looked back and forth between them as if trying to figure out the connection.

The girl wasn't listening, she was looking at the wand in his hand.

"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."

She sat down next to him. Ron looked taken aback.

"Er — all right."

He cleared his throat.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this useless, mousie yellow."

He waved his wand, but nothing happened. Cottonball stayed white and fast asleep.

Neville tried to quell his laughter even though Harry had no such restraints.

"Are you sure that's a real spell?" said the girl, looking rather intrigued. She spoke very fast. "Well, it's not very good, is it? I've tried a few simple spells just for practice and it's all worked for me. Nobody in my family's magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it's the very best school of witchcraft there is, I've heard — I've learned all our course books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough—"

"It will be." said Harry, rather pompously. "You'll do great, Hermione."

Ron coughed and Harry turned to him looking slightly annoyed.

"Neville, this is Hermione Granger." he said. "Hermione, this is Neville Longbottom."

"Are you really?" said Hermione. "I know all about you, of course — I got a few extra books. for background reading, and you're in Modern Magical History and The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts and Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century.

"I know." said Neville with a polite smile. He rather liked Hermione. She seemed like a purer version of Harry.

Ron dropped a Chocolate Frog, probably by accident. Harry turned to him looking a little intrigued. "There's no need to ask who you are. Everyone knows all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford, apparently." he said, eyeing the wand. Ron turned red as Harry took out his own and said "Reparo." sealing the gap in which the unicorn hair had been prodding through.

Ron looked a bit stunned and a bit annoyed that he hadn't figured that out earlier.

Harry put his wand back into his sweater pocket and gave Ron a much friendlier smile. "Harry Potter." he said, holding out a hand. "Pleased to meet you."

Ron slowly shook his hand.

"Neville probably wouldn't have told you this, sadly, but you're his cousin." said Harry.

"Really?" asked Ron.

"Yep." said Neville with a pained smile. "Alice Prewett — Molly Prewett. Ergo, cousins."

"W-wow!" said Ron.

Harry spoke up a bit more sternly. "Now that we've got two of you gathered round the table, let's get one thing clear: Nobody's friends with me without being friend with Neville."

"And vice-versa." he chipped in.

Hermione quickly weaseled her way into the conversation. "Do any of you know what house you'll be in? I've been asking around, and I hope I'm in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be too bad."

"I'll be in Gryffindor. 'Where dwell the brave at heart'. Like my Dad." said Harry, pretending to lift an imaginary sword.

Personally, Neville thought Harry would've done alright in Slytherin, had he not been so against it.

"I'll probably be in Gryffindor too." said Ron. "That's where the rest of my family ended up so far. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw would be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."

"I wouldn't be able to look at you." said Harry jokily.

"You only have eyes for one particular Slytherin." said Neville teasingly.

Harry shoved him off the seat.

Cottonball made an oddly contented squeaking noise and rolled over. Ron smiled sadly at her.

"You know, there is a spell for turning it yellow." said Harry. He pulled out his wand once again, spun it in a few circles and said, "Kuningslyvian!"

Cottonball turned a bright florescent yellow.

Ron stared at Harry, who was smirking as he put back his wand.

"Stupid spell — Connor gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud." Ron mumbled after awhile.

Neville shook his head. "Coming from a the home of natural pranksters, you've just been royally fooled."

Ron groaned.

"So what do your oldest brothers do now that they've left, anyway?" asked Harry.

"Charlie's in Romania studying dragons, and Bill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts," said Ron. "Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the Daily Prophet — someone tried to rob a high security vault."

They both stared.

"Really? What happened to them?" asked Harry.

"We've just had a series of massive storms in our neighborhood." said Neville. "I don't suppose the many owls would've been able to get through."

"Nothing, that's why it's such big news. They haven't been caught. My dad says it must've been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don't think they took anything, that's what's odd. 'Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who's behind it."

Neville turned this news over in his mind. He was starting to get rather annoyed of how he kept saying You-Know-Who. He supposed this was really just a habit, though, since most people seemed to call him that.

"What's your Quidditch team?" Ron asked.

"Hollyhead Harpies," Both boys said in unison.

"Nice." said Ron. "Mine's the Chudley Canons. My whole family —"

Whatever he was about to say was forgotten when the compartment door slid open yet again, and the face was a familiar one this time.

"Amazing." said the pale boy. "You two actually got into Hogawarts."

Harry smiled pleasantly. "Yes, it is rather lucky that we, unlike you, have bigger brains than ants."

"At least I use my brain." he shot back. "As opposed to you."

"Ferret."

"Sloth."

"Bully."

"Brat."

"Snake."

"Stupid."

"Hey!"

"Ladies, please, take this argument outside!" said Neville.

He grabbed both of them by the scruffs of their necks and pushed them out.

Hermione gave him a weird look. "Who was that?"

Neville shrugged. "His name is Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

"You know him?" asked Ron, looking confused.

He smiled at the memory. "Sort of. Harry and him are frienemies."

"Frienemies?" asked Hermione.

"Who exactly is Harry?" asked Ron.

Neville felt uncomfortable at this topic for some reason. "We're practically brothers. I live with him. You know... ever since my parents died."

Ron looked a bit guilty. "Oh, sorry."

"It's alright." said Neville.

"Frienemies?" asked Hermione again. "Is that even a word?"

"No, not really." said Neville. "But it's what Harry and Draco call themselves. I mean, they wont hesitate to hurt each other themselves, but they'll always stand up for each other against other people. It's weird."

Ron and Hermione exchanged identical looks. Neville could almost hear the wedding bells ringing.

"I've heard of the Malfoy family," said Ron after awhile. "They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they'd been bewitched. My dad doesn't believe it. He says Malfoy's father didn't need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side."

"True." said Neville. "We're far from believing his father is anywhere near innocent, and even making friends with Draco was a stretch. But they've got so much in common that it probably couldn't be avoided."

Ron shook his head. "That's just plain weird."

Hermione suddenly jumped up, staring at her watch. "We'd better hurry up and put your robes on, I've been up to the front to ask the conductor earlier, and it's it's nearly time we're meant to arrive!"

"Alright." said Neville. Hermione really reminded him of Harry. Then he turned to Ron. "And you've got dirt on your nose, by the way."

They all took off their jackets and pulled on their long black robes. Ron's were a bit short for him, you could see his sneakers underneath them.

A voice echoed through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Harry rushed back into the compartment with his robes already on.

Harry actually looked, probably for the first time in his entire life, nervous.

He looked to them and said, "We're finally here."

Neville's stomach lurched with nerves and Ron, he saw, looked pale under his freckles with Hermione was wringing her hands and talking too fast for either of them to understand. Harry crammed their his inner pockets with the last of the sweets and they joined the crowd thronging the corridor.

The train slowed right down and finally stopped. People pushed their way toward the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Neville shivered in the cold night air. Then a lamp came bobbing over the heads of the students, and Neville heard a familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there?"

Hagrid's big hairy face beamed over the sea of heads.

"C'mon, follow me — any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!"

Slipping and stumbling, they followed Hagrid down what seemed to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Neville thought there must be thick trees there. Nobody spoke much.

"Ye' all get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!"

The narrow path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a great black take. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Neville and Harry were joined in their boat by Ron and Hermione. "Everyone in?" shouted Hagrid, who had a boat to himself. "Right then — FORWARD!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent, staring up at the great castle overhead. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face. They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oy, Neville! Is this your squirrel?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as people climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" cried Neville blissfully, holding out his hands. Then they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle.

They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, Oak front door.

"Everyone here? Still got yer squirrel, Neville?"

Hagrid raised a gigantic fist and knocked three times on the castle door.

* * *

**Reviews make me happy!**


	4. The Sorting

**If anyone wants to know why I changed Fred and George's names, there's no specific reason, I just did it mainly to make the story a bit less like J.K. Rowling's. Let's just say that Alice was the one who chose their original names. You might not like that, but they're still the Fred and George we know.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: All rights go to J.K. Rowling**

* * *

Neville Longbottom, The Philosopher's Stone, Chapter 4: The Sorting

The door swung open at once. A tall, black-haired witch in emerald-green robes stood there. She had a very stern face and Neville's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall," said Hagrid.

Harry gave him a look and he tried to remember exactly who Professor McGonagall was.

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here."

She pulled the door wide. The entrance hall was so big you could have fit an entire house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the kind they had at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors.

They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Neville could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right -the rest of the school must already be here — but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall. "The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats in the Great Hall, you will be sorted into your houses. The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory, and spend free time in your house common room."

"Isn't this the exact same speech she gave your dad?" Neville whispered to Harry.

"Yeah. She does the same one every year." he whispered back.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin." Professor McGonagall was saying. "Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding witches and wizards. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rulebreaking will lose house points. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honor. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. "The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting."

Her eyes lingered for a moment on Neville's cloak, which had a chocolate stain below his left ear, and on Ron's smudged nose.

"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly."

She left the chamber.

Neville gave Harry a withering look and he immediately stopped trying to flatten his hair.

"How exactly do they sort us into houses?" Hermione asked Ron.

"Some sort of test, I think. Fred said it hurts a lot, but I think he was joking."

Neville resisted the urge to laugh. A test? In front of the whole school? Most of the students didn't know any magic yet — what on earth would they be able to do? Something like this wouldn't happen the moment they arrived. He looked around and saw that everyone else looked terrified. No one was talking much except Hermione, who was whispering very fast about all the spells she'd learned and wondering which one she'd need. Harry was pretending to listen to her.

Neville was still nervous. though, what house would he be in?

Then something happened that made him jump about a foot in the air — several people behind him screamed.

"What the —?"

He gasped. So did the people around him. About twenty ghosts had just streamed through the back wall. Pearly-white and slightly transparent, they glided across the room talking to one another and hardly glancing at the first years. They seemed to be arguing. What looked like a fat little monk was saying: "Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance —"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves? He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost — I say, what are you all doing here?"

A ghost wearing a ruff and tights had suddenly noticed the first years.

For awhile, nobody answered.

"We're new students." said Harry boldly. "Doesn't this happen every year? We're about to be sorted!"

"New students!" said the Fat Friar suddenly, smiling around at them as if he had solved a great mystery. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?"

A few people nodded mutely. Harry and Neville slapped their foreheads.

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know."

"Move along now," said a sharp voice. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start."

Professor McGonagall had returned. One by one, the ghosts floated away through the opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall told the first years, "and follow me."

Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, Neville got into line behind Harry, with Ron behind him, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

No matter how many amazing stories he had heard about Hogwarts, Neville had never even imagined such a strange and splendid place. It was lit by thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables, where the rest of the students were sitting. These tables were laid with glittering golden plates and goblets. At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. The hundreds of faces staring at them looked like pale lanterns in the flickering candlelight. Dotted here and there among the students, the ghosts shone misty silver. As a thought struck him, Neville looked upward and sure enough he saw a velvety black ceiling dotted with stars. He heard Harry whisper, "Its bewitched to look like the sky outside. I read about it in Hogwarts, A History."

It was almost hard to believe there was a ceiling there at all, and that the Great Hall didn't simply open on to the heavens.

Harry quickly looked down again as Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat. This hat was patched and frayed and extremely dirty. The Sorting Hat.

"Maybe they had to try and get a rabbit out of it," Harry said teasingly, that seemed the sort of thing — noticing that everyone in the hall was now staring at the hat, Neville stared at it, too. For a few seconds, there was complete silence. Then the hat twitched. A rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth — and the hat began to... sing?!

"Oh, you may not think I'm pretty,  
But don't judge on what you see,  
I'll eat myself if you can find  
A smarter hat than me.  
You can keep your bowlers black,  
Your top hats sleek and tall,  
For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat  
And I can cap them all.  
There's nothing hidden in your head  
The Sorting Hat can't see,  
So try me on and I will tell you  
Where you ought to be.  
You might belong in Gryffindor,  
Where dwell the brave at heart,  
Their daring, nerve, and chivalry  
Set Gryffindors apart;  
You might belong in Hufflepuff,  
Where they are just and loyal,  
Those patient Hufflepuffis are true  
And unafraid of toil;  
Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,  
if you've a ready mind,  
Where those of wit and learning,  
Will always find their kind;  
Or perhaps in Slytherin  
You'll make your real friends,  
Those cunning folk use any means  
To achieve their ends.  
So put me on! Don't be afraid!  
And don't get in a flap!  
You're in safe hands (though I have none)  
For I'm a Thinking Cap!"

The whole hall burst into applause as the hat finished its song. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

"So we've just got to try on the hat?" Ron whispered to Neville. "I'll kill Travis, he was going on about wrestling a troll!"

Neville smiled, knowing very well where that rumor had come from.

He did wish they could have tried it on without everyone watching. The hat seemed to be asking rather a lot; Neville didn't feel brave or quick-witted or any of it at the moment.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment.

"When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she said. "Abbott, Hannah!"

A pink-faced girl with blonde pigtails stumbled out of line, put on the hat, which fell right down over her eyes, and sat down. A moments pause —

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat.

The table on the right cheered and clapped as Hannah went to sit down at the Hufflepuff table. Neville saw the ghost of the Fat Friar waving merrily at her.

"Bones, Susan!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!" shouted the hat again, and Susan scuttled off to sit next to Hannah.

"Boot, Terry!"

"RAVENCLAW!"

The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them.

"Brocklehurst, Mandy" went to Ravenclaw too, but "Brown, Lavender" became the first new Gryffindor, and the table on the far left exploded with cheers; Harry could see Ron's twin brothers catcalling.

"Bulstrode, Millicent" then became a Slytherin. Perhaps it was Neville's imagination, after all he'd heard about Slytherin, but he thought they looked like a rather lonely lot. He was starting to break out in cold sweat now.

"Finch-Fletchley, Justin!"

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Sometimes the hat shouted out the house at once, but at others it took a little while to decide. "Finnigan, Seamus" sat on the stool for almost a whole minute before the hat declared him a Gryffindor.

"Granger, Hermione!"

Hermione almost ran to the stool and jammed the hat eagerly on her head.

"GRYFFINDOR!" shouted the hat. Ron groaned but Neville didn't think it was all that odd. It would make sense if she was able to be friends with Harry, she was bound to have at least a little bravery.

A horrible thought struck Neville, as horrible thoughts always do when you're very nervous. What if he wasn't chosen at all? What if he just sat there with the hat over his eyes for ages, until Professor McGonagall jerked it off his head and said there had obviously been a mistake and he'd better get back on the train?

No, no, that was impossible. That was a stupid thought.

Still, what if since he was almost a squib...

"Neville!" Harry hissed, elbowing him. It took Neville a few seconds to realize that his name had been called.

When Neville stepped forward, whispers had broke out like little hissing fires all over the hall.

"Longbottom, did she say?"

"The Neville Longbottom?"

The last thing Neville saw before the hat dropped over his eyes was the hall full of people craning to get a good look at him. Next second he was looking at the black inside of the hat. He waited.

"Hmm," said a small voice in his ear. "Difficult. Very difficult. Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind either. There's talent, A my goodness, yes — and a nice thirst to prove yourself, now that's interesting... So where shall I put you?"

Neville felt his mind run wild and thought, Gryffindor, Gryffindor.

"Gryffindor, eh?" said the small voice. "Are you sure? You could be even greater, you know, it's all here in your head, and Slytherin will help you on the way to greatness, no doubt about that."

I wanna be with Harry, he thought, And Harry's definitely gong to be in Gryffindor.

"You're sure you don't want Slytherin — really? Well, then you'll be GRYFFINDOR!"

Neville heard the hat shout the last word to the whole hall. He took off the hat and walked shakily toward the Gryffindor table. He was so relieved to have made it to Gryffindor, he hardly noticed that he was getting the loudest cheer yet. Percy the Prefect got up and shook his hand vigorously, while the Weasley twins yelled, "We got Neville! We got Neville!" Neville sat down opposite the ghost in the ruff he'd seen earlier. The ghost patted his arm, giving Neville the sudden, odd feeling he'd just plunged it into a bucket of ice-cold water.

He could see the High Table properly now. At the end nearest him sat Hagrid, who caught his eye and gave him the thumbs up. Neville grinned back. And there, in the center of the High Table, in a large gold chair, sat Albus Dumbledore. Neville recognized him at once from the time he had visited the Potters when he was six. Dumbledore's silver hair was the only thing in the whole hall that shone as brightly as the ghosts. Neville spotted Professor Quirrell, too, the nervous teacher from the Leaky Cauldron that Harry (and James) didn't like. He was looking very peculiar in a large purple turban.

Draco swaggered forward when his name was called and the hat had barely touched his head when it screamed, "SLYTHERIN!"

Neville could see Harry groan. Draco went to join his friends Crabbe and Goyle, looking pleased with himself.

There weren't many people left now. "Moon" "Nott" "Parkinson" then a pair of twin girls, "Patil" and "Patil" then "Perks, Sally-Anne" and then, at last — "Potter, Harry!"

"GRYFFINDOR!" the hat yelled almost immediately. Harry strutted over to where Neville was and they slapped high-fives.

And now there were only four people left to be sorted. "Thomas, Dean," a Black boy even taller than Ron, joined them at the Gryffindor table. "Turpin, Lisa," became a Ravenclaw and then it was Ron's turn. He was pale green by now. Neville crossed his fingers under the table and a second later the hat had shouted, "GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry and Neville clapped loudly with the rest as Ron collapsed into the chair next to him.

"Well done, Ron, excellent," said Percy Weasley Pompously across Neville as "Zabini, Blaise," was made a Slytherin. Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll and took the Sorting Hat away.

Neville looked down at his empty gold plate. He had only just realized how hungry he was. The pumpkin pasties seemed ages ago.

Albus Dumbledore had gotten to his feet. He was beaming at the students, his arms opened wide, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to see them all there.

"Welcome," he said. "Welcome to a new year at Hogwarts! Before we begin our banquet, I would like to say a few words. And here they are: Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! Thank you!"

He sat back down. Everybody clapped and cheered. A few looked like they didn't know whether to laugh or not. He and Harry laughed.

"Is he — a bit mad?" Ron asked Neville uncertainly.

"Mad?" said Harry airily. "He's a genius! Best wizard in the world! But he is a bit mad, yes. Potatoes, Hermione?"

The dishes in front of him were now piled with food. He had never seen so many things to eat on one table: roast beef, roast chicken, pork chops and lamb chops, sausages, bacon and steak, boiled potatoes, roast potatoes, fries, Yorkshire pudding, peas, carrots, gravy, ketchup, and, for some strange reason, peppermint humbugs.

The Potters weren't exactly what you would call poor, but even so they never had this much food for one meal, even when they had guests round. (Though that didn't stop Harry from sometimes stuffing himself so full it made him sick). Harry piled his plate with a bit of everything except the peppermints and helped Neville with his. The kids all around the Great Hall began to eat. It was all delicious.

"That does look good," said the ghost in the ruff sadly, watching Neville cut up his steak. "I haven't eaten for nearly four hundred years, I don't need to, of course, but one does miss it. I don't think I've introduced myself? Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington at your service. Resident ghost of Gryffindor Tower."

"I know who you are!" said Harry suddenly. "You're Nearly Headless Nick!"

"I would prefer you to call me Sir Nicholas de Mimsy —" the ghost began stiffly, but sandy-haired Seamus Finnigan interrupted.

"Nearly Headless? How can you be nearly headless?"

Sir Nicholas looked extremely miffed, acting as if their little chat wasn't going at all the way he wanted.

"Like this," he said irritably. He seized his left ear and pulled. His whole head swung off his neck and fell onto his shoulder as if it was on a hinge. Someone had previously tried to behead him, but not done it properly. Looking pleased at the stunned looks on their faces, Nearly Headless Nick flipped his head back onto his neck, coughed, and said, "So — new Gryffindors! I hope you're going to help us win the house championship this year? Gryffindors have never gone so long without winning. Slytherins have got the cup six years in a row! The Bloody Baron's becoming almost unbearable — he's the Slytherin ghost."

Neville looked over at the Slytherin table and saw a horrible ghost sitting there, with blank staring eyes, a gaunt face, and robes stained with silver blood. He was right next to Malfoy who obviously didn't look too pleased with the seating arrangements.

"How did he get covered in blood?" asked Seamus with great interest.

"I've never asked," said Nearly Headless Nick delicately.

"He committed suicide." whispered Harry to Neville. They grinned at each other.

When everyone had eaten as much as they could, the remains of the food faded from the plates, leaving them sparkling clean as before. A moment later the desserts appeared. Blocks of ice cream in every flavor you could think of, apple pies, treacle tarts, chocolate eclairs and jam doughnuts, trifle, strawberries, Jell-O, rice pudding —"

As Neville helped himself to a treacle tart, the talk turned to their families.

"I'm half-and-half," said Seamus. "Me dad's a Muggle. Mom didn't tell him she was a witch 'til after they were married. Bit of a nasty shock for him."

The others laughed.

"What about you, Dean?" said Ron.

"I'm a muggle-born," said Neville, "You should have seen their faces when they found out I was a wizard — they thought they were going crazy. Took them twelve days to believe it."

On Neville's other side, Harry and Hermione were talking about lessons ("I do hope they start right away, there's so much to learn, I'm particularly interested in Transfiguration, you know, turning something into something else, of course, it's supposed to be very difficult—"; "We'll probably be starting small, just matches into needles and that sort of thing—").

Neville, who was starting to feel warm and sleepy, looked up at the High Table again. Hagrid was drinking deeply from his goblet. Professor McGonagall was talking to Professor Dumbledore. Professor Quirrell, in his absurd turban, was eating his food with his head bowed. Remus was talking to a Professor Snape.

It happened very suddenly. A sharp, hot pain shot across the scar on Neville's forehead.

"Ouch!" Neville clapped a hand to his head.

"What is it?" asked Percy.

"N-nothing."

The pain had gone as quickly as it had come. Harder to shake off was the thought of why it might've hurt. It was a feeling that he didn't like at all.

"How long has Professor Quirrell been teaching here?" he asked Percy.

"Oh, you know Quirrell already, do you? No wonder he's looking so nervous, this is Quirrell's first year here, but he was teaching somewhere else the past few years."

Harry had noticed something and leaned over. "Are you alright, Neville?"

Neville nodded.

"You're sure?" said Harry, over-paranoid as usual.

"Yeah, I'm fine." said Neville. He could tell Harry about the pain later, but not here. Not in the middle of the Great Hall.

At last, the desserts too disappeared, and Professor Dumbledore got to his feet again. The hall fell silent.

"Ahem — just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you.

"First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well."

Dumbledore's twinkling eyes flashed in the direction of the Weasley twins. Harry gave them an approving glance, Neville hoped he wasn't going to ally with them so soon.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you all that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors."

"As if anyone would listen to that." Neville murmured to Ron.

"Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of the term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch."

Harry mumbled something about the Quidditch rights of first-year students.

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death."

Beside him, Ron laughed, but he was one of the few who did.

"He's not serious?" Hermione muttered to Harry.

"Must be." said Harry, looking quizzically to Percy.

Percy frowned at Dumbledore. "It's odd, because he usually gives us a reason why we're not allowed to go somewhere — the forest's full of dangerous beasts, everyone knows that. I do think he might have told us prefects, at least."

Harry was making a yapping hand behind Percy.

"And now, before we go to bed, let us sing the school song!" cried Dumbledore. Neville noticed that the other teachers' smiles had become rather fixed.

Dumbledore gave his wand a little flick, as if he was trying to get a fly off the end, and a long golden ribbon flew out of it, which rose high above the tables and twisted itself, snakelike, into words.

"Everyone pick their favorite tune," said Dumbledore, "and off we go!" And the school bellowed rather jumbly and incoherently:

"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,  
Teach us something please,  
Whether we be old and bald  
Or young with scabby knees,  
Our heads could do with filling  
With some interesting stuff,  
For now they're bare and full of air,  
Dead flies and bits of fluff,  
So teach us things worth knowing,  
Bring back what we've forgot,  
just do your best, we'll do the rest,  
And learn until our brains all rot."

Everybody finished the song at different times. Harry finished it by bursting into laughter. At last, only the Weasley twins were left singing along to a very slow funeral march. Dumbledore conducted their last few lines with his wand and when they had finished, he was one of those who clapped loudest.

"Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here! And now, bedtime. Off you trot!"

The Gryffindor first years followed Percy through the chattering crowds, out of the Great Hall, and up the marble staircase. Neville's legs were moving robotically, he was so tired after all the excitement. The people in the portraits along the corridors whispered and pointed as they passed, and twice Percy led them through doorways hidden behind sliding panels and hanging tapestries. They climbed more staircases, yawning and dragging their feet, and Harry was just complaining how much farther did they have to go when they came to a sudden halt.

A bundle of walking sticks was floating in midair ahead of them, and as Percy took a step toward them they started throwing themselves at him.

"Peeves," Percy whispered to the first years. "A poltergeist." He raised his voice, "Peeves — show yourself"

A loud, rude sound, like the air being let out of a balloon, answered.

"Do you want me to go to the Bloody Baron?"

There was a pop, and a little man with wicked, dark eyes and a wide mouth appeared, floating cross-legged in the air, clutching the walking sticks.

"Oooooooh!" he said, with an evil cackle. "Ickle Firsties! What fun!"

He swooped suddenly at them. They all ducked.

"Go away, or I'll use some Marauders' charms on you, I mean it!" yelled Harry.

Peeves vanished, dropping the walking sticks on Percy's head. They heard him zooming away, rattling coats of armor as he passed.

"You want to watch out for Peeves. The Bloody Baron's the only one who can control him," as if Harry hadn't just gotten rid of him. "He won't even listen to us prefects. Here we are."

At the very end of the corridor hung a portrait of a very fat woman in a pink silk dress.

"Password?" she said.

"Caput Draconis," said Percy, and the portrait swung forward to reveal a round hole in the wall. They all scrambled through it — Harry helped Neville with a leg up — and found themselves in the Gryffindor common room, a cozy, round room full of squashy armchairs.

Percy directed the girls through one door to their dormitory and the boys through another. At the top of a spiral staircase — they were obviously in one of the towers — they found their beds at last: five four-posters hung with deep red, velvet curtains. Their trunks had  
already been brought up. Too tired to talk much, they pulled on their pajamas and fell into bed.

"Great food, isn't it?" Ron muttered through the hangings. "Get off, Cottonball! She's chewing my sheets."

"We didn't get to talk to Moony or Professor Snape today." said Harry, sleepily, although his voice was still loud and clear. Neville was going to answer, but he fell asleep almost at once.

Neville had a very strange dream. He was wearing Professor Quirrell's turban, which kept talking to him, telling him he must transfer to Slytherin at once, because it was his destiny. Neville told the turban he didn't want to be in Slytherin; it got heavier and heavier; he tried to pull it off but it tightened painfully — and there was Harry and Malfoy, laughing at him as he struggled with it — then they disappeared and out of the nothingness came a pale-faced man, whose laugh became high and cold — there was a burst of green light and Neville woke, sweating and shaking.

He rolled over and fell asleep again, and when he woke next day, he was sure that he must have had a dream that he forgot.

* * *

**Reviews make me happy!**


	5. The First Week

**I hope it's still interesting enough. I find it hard to be mean to the characters.**

**I won't be able to update for awhile because my final exams are coming up so my mom will be keeping an eye on me.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: All rights go to J.K. Rowling**

* * *

Neville Longbottom, The Philosopher's Stone, Chapter 5: The First Week

"There, look."

"Where?"

"Next to that kid with black hair."

"Next to Potter?"

"Did you see his face?"

"Did you see his scar?"

Whispers followed Neville from the moment he left his dormitory the next day. People lining up outside classrooms stood on tiptoe to get a look at him, or doubled back to pass him in the corridors again, staring. Neville wished they wouldn't, even though he was used to it by now, and he had to rely on Harry to help him find his way to classes as usual.

There were a hundred and forty-two staircases at Hogwarts: wide, sweeping ones; narrow, rickety ones; some that led somewhere different on a Friday; some with a vanishing step halfway up that you had to remember to jump. Then there were doors that wouldn't open unless you asked politely, or tickled them in exactly the right place, and doors that weren't really doors at all, but solid walls just pretending. It was also very hard to remember where anything was, because it all seemed to move around a lot. The people in the portraits kept going to visit each other, and Neville was almost sure the coats of armor could walk.

The ghosts didn't help, either. It was always a nasty shock when one of them glided suddenly through a door you were trying to open. Nearly Headless Nick was always happy to point new Gryffindors in the right direction, but Peeves the Poltergeist was worth two locked doors and a trick staircase if you met him when you were late for class. He would drop wastepaper baskets on your head, pull rugs from under your feet, pelt you with bits of chalk, or sneak up behind you, invisible, grab your nose, and screech, "GOT YOUR CONK!"

Even worse than Peeves, if that was possible, was the caretaker, Argus Filch. Neville and Ron managed to get on the wrong side of him on their very first morning. Filch found them trying to force their way through a door that unluckily turned out to be the entrance to the out-of-bounds corridor on the third floor. He wouldn't believe they were lost, was sure they were trying to break into it on purpose, and was threatening to lock them in the dungeons when they were rescued by Professor Snape, who was passing.

Filch owned a cat called Mrs. Norris, a scrawny, dust-colored creature with bulging, lamp like eyes just like Filch's. She patrolled the corridors alone. Break a rule in front of her, put just one toe out of line, and she'd whisk off for Filch, who'd appear, wheezing, two seconds later. Filch knew the secret passageways of the school better than anyone (except perhaps the Weasley twins) and could pop up as suddenly as any of the ghosts. The students all hated him, and it was the dearest ambition of many to give Mrs. Norris a good kick.

And then, once you had managed to find them, there were the classes themselves. There was a lot more to magic than waving your wand and saying a few funny words.

They had to study the night skies through their telescopes every Wednesday at midnight and learn the names of different stars and the movements of the planets. Then three times a week they went out to the greenhouses behind the castle to study Herbology, with a dumpy little witch called Professor Sprout, where they learned how to take care of all the strange plants and fungi, and found out what they were used for.

Neville was almost glad Harry had drilled him through all their most probable courses before they had come.

Remus taught Charms. He didn't mind Neville calling him 'Remus' and Harry calling him 'Moony' while everyone else called him 'Professor Lupin'. One of the nice things about the class was that he wasn't at all biased and was really easygoing yet engaging with their lesson.

Easily the most boring class was History of Magic, which was the only one taught by a ghost. Professor Binns had been very old indeed when he had fallen asleep in front of the staff room fire and got up next morning to teach, leaving his body behind him. Binns droned on and on while they scribbled down names and dates, and got Emetic the Evil and Uric the Oddball mixed up. Hermione spent the whole class writing down notes. Ron seemed to try, but he could barely keep his eyes open. Neville fell asleep behind his book and Harry didn't even bother to hide.

Professor McGonagall was again different. James had been quite right to say she wasn't a teacher to cross. Strict and clever, she gave them a talking-to the moment they sat down in her first class.

"Transfiguration is some of the most complex and dangerous magic you will learn at Hogwarts," she said. "Anyone messing around in my class will leave and not come back. You have been warned."

Then she changed her desk into a pig and back again. They were all very impressed and couldn't wait to get started, but soon realized they weren't going to be changing the furniture into animals for a long time. After taking a lot of complicated notes, they were each given a match and started trying to turn it into a needle. By the end of the lesson, only Harry had made any difference to his match; Professor McGonagall showed the class how it had gone all silver and pointy with a small hole at the top and gave Harry a rare smile.

The class everyone had really been looking forward to was Defense Against the Dark Arts, but Quirrell's lessons turned out to be a bit of a joke. His classroom smelled strongly of garlic, which everyone said was to ward off a vampire he'd met in Romania and was afraid would be coming back to get him one of these days. His turban, he told them, had been given to him by an African prince as a thank-you for getting rid of a troublesome zombie, but they weren't sure they believed this story. For one thing, when Seamus Finnigan asked eagerly to hear how Quirrell had fought off the zombie, Quirrell went pink and started talking about the weather; for another, they had noticed that a funny smell hung around the turban, and the Weasley twins insisted that it was stuffed full of garlic as well, so that Quirrell was protected wherever he went.

Neville was very relieved to find out that he wasn't miles behind everyone else, which, now that je thought about tut, had been a really stupid idea. Lots of people had come from Muggle families and hadn't had any idea that they were witches and wizards. There was so much to learn that even people like Ron usually didn't have much of a head start.

Friday was an important day for Harry and Neville. They finally managed to find their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast without getting lost once.

"What have we got today?" Ron asked Neville as he poured sugar on his porridge.

"Charms." said Hermione to Harry. "Then Double Potions with the Slytherins."

"Snape's Head of Slytherin House." Harry told her.

"They say he always favors them — we'll be able to see if it's true." said Ron to Neville.

"Wish McGonagall favored us," said Neville. Professor McGonagall was head of Gryffindor House, but it hadn't stopped her from giving them a huge pile of homework the day before.

Ron nodded and he and Hermione both awkwardly looked away from each other.

Like Harry had said, being friends with Neville or Harry was a package deal. No one was supposed to be friends with one without the other but that didn't stop Ron and Hermione from being rather prickly of late.

Just then, the mail arrived. Neville had gotten used to this by now, but it had given him a bit of a shock on the first morning, when about a hundred owls had suddenly streamed into the Great Hall during breakfast, circling the tables until they saw their owners, and dropping letters and packages onto their laps.

Soren had already brought Harry and him three letters so far, from James and Lily, and a package of chocolates form Sirius. This morning, she fluttered down between the marmalade and the sugar bowl and dropped a note onto Neville's plate. Harry reached open and opened it carefully like he did with every letter. It said, in a very untidy scrawl:

Dear Harry and Neville,

I know you get Friday afternoons off, so would you like to come and have a cup of tea with me around three?

I want to hear all about your first week. Send us an answer back with Hedwig.

Hagrid

Harry produced a quill and Neville scribbled 'Yes, please, see you later' on the back of the note, then sent Soren off again.

"Come on." said Harry. "We're going to be late for Potions."

Ron was convinced that a lesson with Professor Snape would be terrible. He was probably wrong. After all, Professor Snape didn't even dislike Harry — he was the one who absolutely spoiled him. Neville had a feeling it was probably because he wanted to keep up a good impression with Lily and a civil not-trying-to-hex-each-other-every-time-we-see-each-other relationship with James.

Potions lessons took place down in one of the dungeons. It was colder here than up in the main castle, and would have been quite creepy enough without the pickled animals floating in glass jars all around the walls.

Professor Snape started the class by taking the roll call, and he paused at Neville name.

"Ah, yes," he said amusedly, "Neville Longbottom. Our new — celebrity. Anything you want to say to your classmates?"

He was teasing him. They performed the whole 'how to survive the killing curse' thing in front of Professor Snape loads of times.

"Oh yes." said Neville, standing up and assuming the haughty air all the Potters possessed. "You see class, everyone is afraid of the Avada Kedavra, but the solution is this: If you see a big green light coming at you, DUCK!"

Everyone laughed.

"Well, unless it's a traffic light, if you know what I mean." said Harry with a grin. "Which you probably don't."

The muggle-borns laughed harder and everyone else just kept laughing.

Professor Snape finally finished calling the names and looked up at the class. His eyes were black like Hagrid's, even if they had not enough of Hagrid's warmth. They were rather cold as always and made you think of unlit tunnels.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potionmaking," he began. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word — like Professor McGonagall, Snape had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death — if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

More silence followed this little speech. Neville and Ron exchanged looks with raised eyebrows. Harry and Hermione were on the edge of their seats and looked desperate to start proving that they weren't dunderheads.

"Potter!" said Snape suddenly. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Powdered root of what to an infusion of what? Neville glanced at Ron, who looked as stumped as he was; Hermione's hand had shot into the air.

"Asphodel and wormwood make a sleeping potion so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death." said Harry. And Neville stepped on his foot before he could continue on to say something stupid like, 'Quoted: Phyllida Spore, One Thousand Herbs And Fungi, Page Twenty-eight, Chapter Two, Paragraph One.'

Professor Snape nodded. "Good. Take one point for Gryffindor." He turned to Hermione. "Miss Granger, where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry had told Neville about the bezoer before, something about a goat? He pretended not to look at Draco, and his two bodyguard friends, Crabbe and Goyle, who were shaking with laughter.

"A bezoar is a stone taken from the stomach of a goat." said Hermione promptly.

"And what does it do?" Professor Snape asked her.

She suddenly looked a bit nervous. "It will... reverse the effects of a potion?"

He shook his head. "I'll give you half-credit for that, Miss Granger. Neville," he said, addressing him by first name as usual. "Can you tell us what a before stone can do?"

Neville's mind snapped to the last time Harry had been ranting with paranoia. "It will save you from most poisons." he said before he even knew what the answer was himself.

Professor Snape nodded to him. "One point to Gryffindor. Now, who can tell me what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Hermione's hand shot up, Harry's following soon after. Neville couldn't for the life of him remember what monkshood was supposed to be, yet alone the characteristical differences to compare it with wolfsbane.

Professor Snape looked amused by the two. "Nice to see someone is awake. How about... Malfoy."

Draco paled, which made Neville want to laugh. It was also amazing how they could be at each other's necks one day, then suddenly the next day Harry was mouthing him the answer from the other side of the room.

"Um..." he said, sweating, "Monkshood and wolfsbane... are the same plant... with different names.. which also goes by the name of... aconite?"

Professor Snape nodded. "Good, one point to Slytherin." then he looked around. "Well? Why aren't you all copying that down?" he turned to write it on the blackboard then said, "Oh, and one point to Gryffindor for mouthing the words so well."

Harry and Draco both turned red as the sudden rummaging for quills and parchment paused for the interval of laughter.

Things escalated into kind of a mostly-friendly war as the Potions lesson continued. Snape put them all into pairs and set them to mixing up a simple potion to cure boils. He swept around in his long black cloak, watching them weigh dried nettles and crush snake fangs, subtly criticizing almost everyone except Harry, who was perfect at potions anyway. He was just telling everyone to look at the perfect way Harry had stewed his horned slugs when clouds of acid green smoke and a loud hissing filled the dungeon. Ron had somehow managed to melt Seamus's cauldron into a twisted blob, and their potion was seeping across the stone floor, burning holes in people's shoes. Within seconds, the whole class was standing on their stools while Ron, who had been drenched in the potion when the cauldron collapsed, moaned in pain as angry red boils sprang up all over his arms and legs.

"Potter!" said Snape, clearing the spilled potion away with one wave of his wand. "Take him up to the hospital wing."

He looked around. "And everyone else can please get off their stools now."

They got off their stools.

Professor Snape looked to Seamus, whom the whole class was still staring at. "I suppose you added the porcupine quills before taking the cauldron off the fire, Finnigan?"

Seamus nodded nervously.

He gestured to the melted cauldron. "This is why you must all be careful when dealing with these ingredients. One point from Gryffindor. Now," he continued, as Seamus' face fell. "Not to say that it was your fault, but things like this are not to be taken lightly."

Harry kicked Neville behind their cauldron to stop him from trying to bargain back that point.

As they climbed the steps out of the dungeon an hour later, Neville's mind was racing and his adrenaline was high. He was wondered what Hagrid's hut would be like.

"Blimey, mate," said Ron, "Snape's always taking points off Travis and Connor, how'd you guys manage to make him a decent teacher?"

Harry gave Neville a look like 'WE ARE NOT GOING TO EXPLAIN THE WHOLE COMPLICATED LOVE TRIANGLE THING'.

Neville just shrugged.

"Can I come and meet Hagrid with you?" asked Hemione. Ron looked like he had been about to ask the same thing but thought the better of it.

"You should come too, Ron." said Neville, because being stuck in a hut with two know-it-alls would probably be one hundred percent awkward.

At five to three they left the castle and made their way across the grounds. Hagrid lived in a small wooden house on the edge of the forbidden forest. A crossbow and a pair of galoshes were outside the front door.

When Harry knocked they heard a frantic scrabbling from inside and several booming barks. Then Hagrid's voice rang out, saying, "Back, Fang — back."

Hagrid's big, hairy face appeared in the crack as he pulled the door open.

"Hang on," he said. "Back, Fang."

He let them in, struggling to keep a hold on the collar of an enormous black boarhound.

There was only one room inside. Hams and pheasants were hanging from the ceiling, a copper kettle was boiling on the open fire, and in the corner stood a massive bed with a patchwork quilt over it.

"Make yerselves at home," said Hagrid, letting go of Fang, who bounded straight at Neville and started licking his ears. Like Hagrid, Fang was clearly not as fierce as he looked.

"This is Hermione," Harry told Hagrid, who was pouring boiling water into a large teapot and putting rock cakes onto a plate.

"And this is Ron," said Neville, annoyed at Harry so blatantly dismissing him.

"Another Weasley, eh?" said Hagrid, glancing at Ron's freckles. "I spent half me life chasin' yer twin brothers away from the forest."

The rock cakes were shapeless lumps with raisins that almost broke their teeth, but Harry, Ron, Neville, and Hemione pretended to be enjoying them as they told Hagrid all about their first lessons. Fang rested his head on Neville's knee and almost drooled all over his robes.

Harry and Ron appeared delighted to hear Hagrid call Filch "that old git."

"An' as fer that cat, Mrs. Norris, I'd like ter introduce her to Fang sometime. D'yeh know, every time I go up ter the school, she follows me everywhere? Can't get rid of her — Filch puts her up to it."

Ron told Hagrid about Snape's lesson. Hagrid, sharing the boys' secret smile, told Ron he had no ideas about it, since Snape liked hardly any of the Gryffindors.

Neville still found that hard to believe, that Snape could really be as mean as they all made out.

"How's yer brother Charlie?" Hagrid asked Ron. "I liked him a lot — great with animals."

While Ron told Hagrid all about Charlie's work with dragons, Harry picked up a piece of paper that was lying on the table under the tea cozy. Neville leaned over to read it with him. It was a cutting from the Daily Prophet:

GRINGOTTS BREAK-IN LATEST

Investigations continue into the break-in at Gringotts on 31 July, widely believed to be the work of Dark wizards or witches unknown.

Gringotts goblins today insisted that nothing had been taken. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied the same day.

"But we're not telling you what was in there, so keep your noses out if you know what's good for you," said a Gringotts spokesgoblin this afternoon.

Neville remembered Ron telling him on the train that someone had tried to rob Gringotts, but Ron hadn't mentioned the date.

The two boys looked at each other, communicating through their eyes.

'Blimey! Harry was thinking, "that Gringotts break-in happened on my birthday!'

'Our birthday.' Neville corrected.

'Wasn't that the day Dad went on a special assignment from Dumbledore?

'In Diagon Ally!'

'Yes!'

'Oh, Harry, you might be right! James might've taken whatever was inside the vault!'

They both turned their eyes to Hagrid, who definitely noticed, as well as the newspaper in their hands.

There was no doubt about it, Hagrid definitely averted his eyes on purposes this time. He grunted and offered Neville another rock cake. They read the story again. The vault that was searched had in fact been emptied earlier that same day, which was definitely something that Dumbledore would do. To wait until the last possible moment.

As the four walked back to the castle for dinner, their pockets weighed down with rock cakes they'd been too polite to refuse, Neville thought that none of the lessons he'd had so far had given him as much to think about as tea with Hagrid. Had James emptied that vault just in time? Where was the contents now? And did Hagrid know something about it that he didn't want to tell Neville?

* * *

**Reviews make me happy!**


	6. Rule-Breaking With Frenemies

**I know I don't update constantly and I blame this partly on exams but I've also been far more interested with my other story. Anyway, I've got this updated now so haters don't hate.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: All rights go to J.K. Rowling**

* * *

Neville Longbottom, The Philosopher's Stone, Chapter 6: Rule-Breaking With Frenemies

Neville had never really appreciated how much Harry used to hold Draco back, there was nothing stopping him in Hogwarts.

Still, first-year Gryffindors only had Potions with the Slytherins, so he thankfully didn't have to put up with Draco's complex attitude much. Or at least, not until Ron spotted a notice pinned up in the Gryffindor common room that made them both groan. Flying lessons would be starting on Thursday — and Gryffindor and Slytherin would be learning together.

"Typical," said Neville. "We're going to be learning how to fly with the two most big-headed wizards ever to own a broom. Just what I always wanted."

The pureblooded families were more alike than most people liked to think. Both the Potters and the Malfoys had the infallible habit of showing off.

"How good are they, really?" asked Ron. "I know Malfoy's always going on about how good he is at Quidditch, but I thought that was all talk."

Draco certainly did talk about flying a lot. He complained loudly about first years never getting on the house Quidditch teams and told long, boastful stories that always seemed to end with him narrowly escaping Muggles in helicopters.

"Most of those stories are true." Neville sighed. "And they nearly all have bits edited out about how Harry would try to knock him off his broom before the muggle helicopters showed up. Don't you dare try to get Harry onto Quidditch, though. He'll never stop talking about it, boasting more like."

He wasn't the only one, though; the way Seamus Finnigan told it, he'd spent most of his childhood zooming around the countryside on his broomstick. Even Ron, he noted, would tell anyone who'd listen about the time he'd almost hit a hang glider on Charlie's old broom. Everyone from wizarding families talked about Quidditch constantly. There had already been a big argument started by Dean Thomas, who shared their dormitory, about soccer. The purebloods of Gryffindor couldn't see what was exciting about a game with only one ball where no one was allowed to fly. Neville had caught Ron prodding Dean's poster of West Ham soccer team and trying to make the players move, which, Harry had bluntly pointed out, was absolutely ridiculous.

Hermione Granger was apparently very nervous about flying. This was something you couldn't learn by heart out of a book — not that she hadn't tried. Any time she couldn't read, she had droned on about flying tips she'd gotten out of Quidditch Through the Ages, which she had gotten out of the library.

Harry had been avoiding her throughout those days. This was one thing, know-it-all or not, that he couldn't help her with. Being awesome at flying was just in the Potter genes and for the life of him neither of them could explain how he did it.

Ron still pointedly ignored Harry whenever he was around, annoying Neville immensely.

It was hard to have any peaceful day when his two best friends were finding it so hard to get along. Harry did try to make the effort, as did Neville with Hermione, but it got quite frustrating after awhile.

Even if Neville was quite used to being around a know-it-all, he was rather relieved when Hermione's lecture was interrupted by the arrival of the mail. There was a scuffle at the Slytherin table as usual, but they took no notice. Draco's eagle owl was always bringing him packages of sweets from home, which he opened gloatingly at the Slytherin table.

"Look at this, Neville, Dad's sent us Remembralls." said Harry, holding up a glass ball the size of a large marble, which seemed to be full of white smoke.

"James is playing a prank." Neville groaned. "He knows we absolutely hate Remembralls, they never tell you what you've forgotten!"

"How does it work?" Hermione asked Harry.

"A Remembrall tells you if there's something you've forgotten to do." said Harry. "Look here, you hold it tight like this and if it turns red... you've forgotten something." His groaned, because the Remembrall had suddenly glowed scarlet.

Harry looked like he was trying to remember what he'd forgotten when Draco Malfoy, who was passing the Gryffindor table, snatched the Remembrall out of his hand.

"You've forgotten something, Harry." he smirked. "Maybe it was to brush your hair this morning." Harry scowled at him, self-consciously running a hand through his hair.

"Give it back, Draco." Neville sighed.

Professor McGonagall, who could spot trouble quicker than any teacher in the school, was there in a flash.

"What's going on?"

"Draco's got my Remembrall, Professor." said Harry with a smirk.

Scowling, Draco dropped the Remembrall back on the table.

"See you at Flying," he said, and he sloped away with Crabbe and Goyle behind him.

At three-thirty that afternoon, Neville, Harry, and the other Gryffindors hurried down the front steps onto the grounds for their first flying lesson. It was a clear, breezy day, and the grass rippled under their feet as they marched down the sloping lawns toward a smooth, flat lawn on the opposite side of the grounds to the forbidden forest, whose trees were swaying darkly in the distance.

The Slytherins were already there, and so were twenty broomsticks lying in neat lines on the ground. James and Sirius always complained about the school brooms, saying that some of them started to vibrate if you flew too high, or always flew slightly to the left.

Their teacher, Madam Hooch, arrived. She had short, gray hair, and yellow eyes like a hawk.

"Well, what are you all waiting for?" she barked. "Everyone stand by a broomstick. Come on, hurry up."

Neville glanced down at his broom. It was old and some of the twigs stuck out at odd angles. He wished he had his old Nimbus one-thousand-seventy with him. There was a sudden longing for that Nimbus two thousand they had seen in Diagon Ally.

"Stick out your right hand over your broom," called Madam Hooch at the front, "and say 'Up!"'

"UP!" everyone shouted.

Neville's broom jumped into his hand at once, but it was one of the few that did. Harry's had too, Ron's had jumped up on the third try. Hermione's had simply rolled over on the ground, and Dean's hadn't moved at all. Maybe it could sense that Dean scorned the broomsticks a little and it's hand in belittling his beloved soccer.

Madam Hooch then showed them how to mount their brooms without sliding off the end, and walked up and down the rows correcting their grips. Ron seemed delighted when she told Malfoy he'd been doing it wrong for years, Harry and Neville could barely contain their laughter at his expression.

"Now, when I blow my whistle, you kick off from the ground, hard," said Madam Hooch. "Keep your brooms steady, rise a few feet, and then come straight back down by leaning forward slightly. On my whistle — three — two —"

But Harry (why Harry, why?) pushed off hard before the whistle had touched Madam Hooch's lips.

"Come back, boy!" she shouted, but Harry was rising straight up like a cork shot out of a bottle — twelve feet — twenty feet. Neville saw him look down with glee, probably having the time of his life.

Gods, this boy just had to be in the spotlight, didn't he?

Draco, just as arrogant as Harry was, decided not to be left out of the fun and took off after him. The two boys circled around high up.

"YOU TWO HAD BETTER GET BACK DOWN HERE OR YOU'LL BE OUT OF HOGWARTS FASTER THAN YOU CAN SAY 'QUIDDITCH'!" Madam Hooch yelled. It was possible, though, that neither of them heard her supersonic tones.

Heavens forbid they had started arguing again. They'll never stop for ages if that happened.

"What in the world is Harry doing?" Hermione whispered urgently. Obviously, she had never heard of the Marauders before. If Harry had never told her about his rule-breaking streak, she was definitely in for a lot of surprises.

Quite suddenly, Harry was streaking down towards the ground, followed by a shocked and desperate-looking Draco. The speed Harry was going, you would've thought they were racing against time.

But they weren't.

The Remembrall glittered in the sun as it plummeted towards the ground.

People were screaming, the girls mostly, Hermione definitely. Harry was a couple of feet from the ground and not slowing down. Neville had to close his eyes and remind himself that Harry was probably just about the best flier in ten years to stop himself from rushing forward.

A foot from the ground he caught it, just in time to pull his broom straight up again, and he turned and descended gently back onto the ground with his Remembrall clutched safely in his fist.

"HARRY POTTER!"

It wasn't Madam Hooch. Neville spun round and saw Professor McGonagall running toward them. Harry got to his feet, looking defiant as always.

"Never — in all my time at Hogwarts —"

Professor McGonagall was almost speechless with shock, and her glasses flashed furiously, "— how dare you — might have broken your neck —"

"But I didn't." he said casually.

"That's not the point, Potter."

"It was my fault, Professor —" Draco started, looking guilty.

"Be quiet, Mr Malfoy."

"But he was just —" Neville blurted.

"That's enough, Mr. Longbottom. Potter, follow me, now."

Harry looked over his shoulder and shrugged as he walked back alongside Professor McGonagall.

"Alright everybody! Ready to mount your brooms! Not you, boy." Madam Hooch said, looking to Draco, who wasn't so eager now anyway.

"Oh!" Hermione said to Neville, looking ready to burst into tears. "He's going to be expelled! I just know it!"

"He wouldn't." spoke up Draco miserably from behind them. "It wasn't really his fault, McGonagall wouldn't be that unfair to her own student."

"Bet he'll get a good scolding, though." said Ron with a shiver. "She seemed mad."

Neville didn't think so. Harry was raised by the Marauders, after all. He could smart-mouth his way out of anything.

"You're joking."

It was dinnertime. Harry had just finished telling Neville what had happened when he'd left the grounds with Professor McGonagall. Ron had a piece of steak and kidney pie halfway to his mouth, but he'd forgotten all about it.

"You're going to be the team seeker?" Ron was saying. "But first years never — you must be the youngest house player in about—"

"A century," said Harry casually. He acted like it was no big deal but anyone who knew him well (like Neville) could tell he was absolutely bursting with his achievement.

Ron was so amazed, so impressed, he just sat and gaped at Harry.

"I start training next week," said Harry, then he lowered to a dramatic whisper. "Only don't tell anyone, Wood wants to keep it a secret."

"Which obviously means that everyone will know soon." I recited.

Harry shrugged. "Naturally."

Travis and Connor Weasley now came into the hall, spotted Harry, and hurried over.

"Well done," said Connor in a low voice. "We heard about it. We're on the team too — Beaters."

"I tell you, we're going to win that Quidditch cup for sure this year," said Travis. "We haven't won since Charlie left, but this year's team is going to be brilliant. You must be good, Harry, Wood was almost skipping when he told us."

"My father was a star Quidditch player." Harry said airily. "It's a natural instinct for me to be that awesome."

"Did you really break the rules in order to get in?" asked Connor urgently.

Harry grinned broadly.

"You really are awesome." said Travis.

Just great.

"Anyway, we've got to go, Lee Jordan reckons he's found a new secret passageway out of the school."

"Bet it's that one behind the statue of Gregory the Smarmy that we found in our first week. See you."

Harry turned back to us. "I'm finally living up to my Marauder-spawn reputation!" he announced.

As if his head needed to get any bigger.

Neville thought the best part about Harry getting onto the Quidditch team was that Ron was suddenly very willing to be friends now that he realized Harry wasn't just a rich know-it-all. Hermione came over an gave Harry a withering look.

"Don't you realize how many rules you'd broken?! I shudder to think of how many house points McGonagall must've deducted from you." she said, a pained expression on her face.

Oh, the irony.

"The thing is, Hermione," Harry said, very seriously. "Is that I can't very well stop myself from breaking the rules once in a while. It's in my blood, I'm the son of a marauder, you can't possibly expect me to be good twenty-four/seven! Surely even you couldn't do that."

Hermione went red. "Well, I probably couldn't, that's true. But what you did was completely unnecessary!"

Neville could see that Harry was itching to tell her about becoming the Gryffindor seeker for his actions, but he simply kept his mouth shut and smiled angelically at Hermione.

Before she could answer, another party came up to them; Draco, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle.

"Having a last meal, Harry? When are you getting the train back to the Manor?" he smirked, a lot more confident now that he probably knew Harry was definitely not expelled.

"You're a lot braver now that you're back on the ground and you've got your little friends with you," said Harry coolly. There was of course nothing at all little about Crabbe and Goyle, but as the High Table was full of teachers, neither of them could do more than crack their knuckles and scowl.

"I'd take you on anytime on my own," said Draco.

"Then I'll smash you flat." said Harry.

Neville looked between the two. They were so confusing!

"Can't you two think of a more mature way to settle this than stand over our table and bicker all day?"

"Fine then." said Harry, standing up so he and Dravo were face-to-face. "Wizard's duel. Wands only — no contact. What's the matter? Scared?"

Both him and Ron turned around. "Wait, what?" gaped Ron.

Draco looked a bit apprehensive but quickly put on a confident mask. "Sure. I hope you don't mind too much when you get your butt whipped."

"He won't," said Neville, automatically defending his best friend before he could think twice and stop himself. "I'm his second, who's yours?"

Draco looked at Crabbe and Goyle, sizing them up.

"Crabbe," he said. "Tonight at midnight all right? We'll meet you in the trophy room; that's always unlocked."

When Draco had gone, Neville and Harry looked at each other.

"What is a wizard's duel?" asked Hermione. "And what do you mean, you're his second —?"

"Well, a second's there to take over if you die," said Ron started, but Hermione cut him off.

"Never mind, it doesn't matter! You mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you." she looked rather desperate. Well, Harry had been her only friend after all.

"I'm sorry to be this blunt with you, Hermione, but it's really none of your business," said Harry.

"Good-bye," said Ron cheerfully.

Harry looked just the slightest bit guilty as the three of them stood and left the table.

Neville couldn't manage to fall asleep that night. It was the first time he was going to do some rule-breaking since they started Hogwarts, he hoped Harry would be sensible.

"Half-past eleven," Ron muttered at last, "You'd better go."

He looked hopeful. "Want to come with us?" I whispered, as to not wake Dean and Seamus. He immediately brightened and nodded.

"Just remember to keep quiet." said Harry. He had stuffed his invisibility cloak into his pocket and was rummaging through Neville's trunk for the Marauders' Map. Upon finding it, he quickly activated it then nodded to them. "Coast is clear."

They pulled on their bathrobes, picked up their wands, and crept across the tower room, down the spiral staircase, and towards the Gryffindor common room.

"Wait!" whispered Harry. They all huddled around the map and saw a little purple ink dot labeled 'Hermione Granger' coming down the stairs into the common room. "Darn it! It's no use waiting her out, she's probably watching out for us to stop us."

"Then what should we do?" Ron whispered anxiously, still staring in awe at the Marauders' Map. "Knowing her, she'll wake the whole tower in effort to stop us!"

"She wouldn't." Neville assured him. "She's still a bit desperate for Harry's friendship, you know that. I can't imagine anyone could be that interfering."

"Exactly." said Harry. Before either of them could stop him, Harry was strolling into the common room. Ron shrugged and followed him.

"Oh Harry!" Neville mumbled as he followed. "We're already prone to trouble, why can't you stop trying to make life so interesting?"

A few embers were still glowing in the fireplace, turning all the armchairs into hunched black shadows. They had almost reached the portrait hole when a voice spoke from the chair nearest them, "I can't believe you're going to do this, Harry."

A lamp flickered on and sure enough, Hermione Granger sat there wearing a pink bathrobe and a frown.

Neville crossed his arms. "Go back to bed!"

"I almost told your brother," Hermione directed to Ron, "Percy — he's a prefect, he'd put a stop to this."

Harry shook his head at her like 'I feel so sorry for you'.

"Come on," he said to Neville. He pushed open the portrait of the Fat Lady and climbed through the hole.

Hermione wasn't going to give up that easily. She followed behind Ron through the portrait hole, getting more and more angry. "Don't you care about Gryffindor, do you only care about yourselves? I don't want Slytherin to win the house cup, and you'll lose all the points I got from Professor McGonagall for knowing about Switching Spells."

"We won't be getting in trouble if we're not caught." Neville pointed out. "And we don't plan to be."

"Oh, I'm sure you will!" Hermione shot at him.

Harry was obviously losing his patience. "Go away."

"All right, but I warned you, you just remember what I said when you're all on the train home tomorrow, you're so —"

But what they were, they didn't find out. Hermione had turned to the portrait of the Fat Lady to get back inside and found herself facing an empty painting. The Fat Lady had gone on a nighttime visit and Hermione was locked out of Gryffindor tower.

"Now what am I going to do?" she asked shrilly.

"That's your problem," said Neville. "And it is quite your fault. We never asked you to follow us in the first place."

"We're sorry we can't stay to help." said Harry, though he didn't really sound quite as sorry as he could've been. "But we've got to go, we're going to be late."

With that, they turned on their heels and started off. Ron smirked back at her then whispered, to them ,"That sure showed her."

But they hadn't even reached the end of the corridor when Hermione caught up with them.

"I'm coming with you," she said.

"You are not." said Ron immediately.

"D'you think I'm going to stand out here and wait for Filch to catch me? If he finds all four of us I'll tell him the truth, that I was trying to stop you, and you can back me up."

Harry stared at her. "You've got some nerve —" then caught himself before he could swear. "Look, if either of you get us caught (yes Ronald, I'm referring to you as well, you're not a Marauder and will never be able to sneak around half as well as us) I'll —"

He didn't manage to finish that either, because the ink dot of 'Markadonks Filch' had suddenly come up into the corridor they had been about to turn into.

Neville put his finger to his lips to tell Ron and Hermione to stay quiet and Harry led them back down the other way. Luckily for the carpeting on the floor that muffled their footsteps.

They flitted along corridors striped with bars of moonlight from the high windows. Once in a while Harry would quickly change course to avoid either Filch or Mrs. Norris, but they seemed to be moving along quite fast. They sped up a staircase to the third floor and tiptoed toward the trophy room.

Draco and Crabbe weren't there yet. The crystal trophy cases glimmered where the moonlight caught them. Cups, shields, plates, and statues winked silver and gold in the darkness. They edged along the walls, keeping their eyes on the doors at either end of the room.

Harry and Neville took out their wands, for protection, out of habit.

"He's late, maybe he's chickened out," Ron whispered.

Harry mimed slapping his forehead. "I'm such an idiot! Draco set us up! He was never going to meet us here. It's a—"

Neville turned and glared at Harry, daring him to finish the rest of his theory, but he didn't need to.

A noise in the next room made them jump. Neville had only just raised his wand when they heard someone speak — and it wasn't Draco.

"Sniff around, my sweet, they might be lurking in a corner."

It was Filch speaking to Mrs. Norris. Slightly panicked, Harry waved urgently at other two to follow him as quickly as possible; they scurried silently toward the door, away from Filch's voice. Neville's robes had barely whipped round the corner when they heard Filch enter the trophy room.

"They're in here somewhere," they heard him mutter, "probably hiding."

"This way!" Neville mouthed to the others and, horrified, they began to creep down a long gallery full of suits of armor. They could hear Filch getting nearer. Hermione suddenly tripped, grabbed Neville around the waist, and the pair of them toppled right into a suit of armor.

The clanging and crashing were enough to wake the whole castle.

"RUN!" Neville gasped, and the four of them sprinted down the gallery, not looking back to see whether Filch was following — they swung around the doorpost and galloped down one corridor then another, Harry in the lead, without any idea where they were or where they were going — they ripped through a tapestry and found themselves in a hidden passageway, hurtled along it and came out near their Charms classroom, which they knew was miles from the trophy room.

"I think we've lost him," Ron panted, leaning against the cold wall and wiping his forehead.

"I — told — you," Hermione gasped, clutching at the stitch in her chest, "I — told — you."

"We've got to get back to Gryffindor tower," said Harry, "quickly as possible."

"Draco tricked you," Hermione said to Harry. "You realized that, didn't you? He was never going to meet you — Filch knew someone was going to be in the trophy room, Draco must have tipped him off as a trap for you."

Harry sighed. "You're right, it's just the sort of thing the coward would do."

Ron straightened up and brushed himself off. "Let's go." he said, looking around worriedly.

"It's not going to be that simple." said Neville. "Harry, check the Marauders' Map."

Harry quickly pulled it out.

"Oh no!" he said. "There's only one other way out of this corridor — and Filch is coming along it."

Neville groaned and Hermione began to hyperventilate.

"This way." Harry decided, putting aside the map and taking out his cloak. As they went down the corridor, he began to give them instructions. "The cloak can just barely fit three people, so if we hit a dead end, the three of you will get under the cloak and I'll pretend I was out here on my own."

"No." Neville disagreed immediately. He couldn't just let Harry take all the blame, even if this all was sorta his fault in the first place. "I won't let you. Ron and Hermione can hide, since they really only tagged along, but—"

"I wanted to come." Ron interrupted. "I did almost as much damage as the rest of you. It wouldn't be fair if only the two of you got in trouble."

All of them looked at Hermione.

The poor girl looked like she was torn between not wanting to be selfish and not wanting to get in trouble. Personally, Neville thought she must know that it was her fault they were almost discovered in the first place, but he would be fine if she decided to take the cloak and hide.

Hermione hadn't had the chance to answer before there was a rattle and something came shooting out from behind them.

It was Peeves. He grinned at them and gave a squeal of delight.

"Shut up, Peeves — you'll get us thrown out." said Neville.

Peeves cackled.

"Wandering around at midnight, Ickle Firsties? Tut, tut, tut. Naughty, naughty, you'll get caughty."

"Not if you don't give us away, Peeves, please." said Hermione.

"Should tell Filch, I should," said Peeves in a saintly voice, but his eyes glittered wickedly. "It's for your own good, you know."

"Don't make me hex you." snapped Harry pointing his wand at Peeves, this was a big mistake.

"STUDENTS OUT OF BED!" Peeves bellowed, "STUDENTS OUT OF BED DOWN THE CHARMS CORRIDOR."

"You really are an idiot, Harry!" said Neville as they ran right to the end of the corridor where they slammed into a door — and it was locked.

They could hear footsteps, Filch running as fast as he could toward Peeves's shouts.

"This was the door that was the door on the map!' moaned Harry. "I was hoping—"

"Oh, move over," Hermione snarled. She grabbed Harry's wand, tapped the lock, and whispered, "Alohomora!"

The lock clicked and the door swung open — Ron and Hermione piled through it (pushing Harry and Neville before them), and shut it quickly.

Harry seemed to be panicking for once. "We shouldn't be here—mmffffff!" Neville had clasped his hand over Harry's mouth before he could accidentally give them away,

"Which way did they go, Peeves?" Filch was saying outside. "Quick, tell me."

"Say 'please'"

"Don't mess with me, Peeves, now where did they go?"

"Shan't say nothing if you don't say please," said Peeves in his annoying singsong voice.

"All right— please."

"NOTHING! Ha haaa! Told you I wouldn't say nothing if you didn't say please! Ha ha! Haaaaaa!" And they heard the sound of Peeves whooshing away and Filch cursing in rage.

Neville exhaled in relief.

"He thinks this door is locked," he whispered to the others. "I think we'll be okay— ew, Harry!"

Harry licked Neville's fingers which caused him to withdraw his hand quickly.

"We're not supposed to be in here!" said Harry. "I knew it was the wrong door the moment I saw it!"

Neville turned around — and saw, quite clearly, what. For a moment, he was sure he'd walked into a nightmare — this was too much, on top of everything that had happened so far.

They weren't in a room, as he had supposed. They were in a corridor. The forbidden corridor on the third floor. And now they knew why it was forbidden.

They were looking straight into the eyes of a monstrous dog, a dog that filled the whole space between ceiling and floor. It had three heads. Three pairs of rolling, mad eyes; three noses, twitching and quivering in their direction; three drooling mouths, saliva hanging in slippery ropes from yellowish fangs.

It was standing quite still, all six eyes staring at them, and Harry knew that the only reason they weren't already dead was that their sudden appearance had taken it by surprise, but it was quickly getting over that, there was no mistaking what those thunderous growls meant.

Neville reached for the doorknob — between Filch and death, he'd take Filch.

Ron reached the knob first and they all fell backward — Hermione slammed the door shut, and they ran, they almost flew, back down the corridor. Filch must have hurried off to look for them somewhere else, because they didn't see him anywhere, but they hardly cared — all they wanted to do was put as much space as possible between them and that monster. They didn't stop running until they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady on the seventh floor.

"Where on earth have you all been?" she asked, looking at their bathrobes hanging off their shoulders and their flushed, sweaty faces.

"Never mind that — pig snout, pig snout," panted Harry, and the portrait swung forward. They scrambled into the common room and collapsed, trembling, into armchairs.

It was a while before any of them said anything.

"What do they think they're doing, keeping a thing like that locked up in a school?" said Ron finally. "If any dog needs exercise, that one does."

Harry had his head in his hands. "You don't use your eyes, any of you, do you?" he snapped. Ron flinched at his tone. "Didn't you see what it was standing on?"

"The floor?" Neville commented irritably. Harry had no right to take out his emotions on Ron. "No ordinary person would've been looking at it's feet, we were mostly too busy with it's heads."

"No, not the floor. It was standing on a trapdoor. It's obviously guarding something." he said a bit softer.

Hermione had suddenly got both her breath and her bad temper back again. She stood up, glaring at them.

"I hope you're pleased with yourselves. We could all have been killed — or worse, expelled. Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed."

Ron stared after her, his mouth open.

"No, we don't mind," he said. "You'd think we dragged her along, wouldn't you."

"That girl needs to get her priorities straight." said Harry, regaining his composure. "Being killed is definitely worse than being expelled."

But Harry had given Neville something else to keep him awake as he climbed back into bed. The dog was guarding something...

Everyone knew that Gringotts was the safest place in the world for something you wanted to hide — except perhaps Hogwarts.

It looked as though Neville had found out where the contents of that broken-in Gringgotts vault was.

* * *

**Reviews make me happy!**


	7. Some Action

**IT'S MY BIRTHDAY! EVERYBODY WISH ME HAPPY BIRTHDAY!**

* * *

**Disclaimer: All rights go to J.K. Rowling**

* * *

Neville Longbottom, The Philosopher's Stone, Chapter 7: Some Action

Draco almost couldn't believe his eyes when he saw that Harry and Neville were still at Hogwarts the next day, looking tired but perfectly cheerful (notice he said almost, living with marauder spawn makes you less easily surprised). Indeed, by the next morning the three boys thought that meeting the three-headed dog had been an excellent adventure, and they were quite keen to have another one. In the meantime, Harry and Neville filled Ron in about the package that seemed to have been moved from Gringotts to Hogwarts, and they spent a lot of time wondering what could possibly need such heavy protection. "It's either really valuable or really dangerous," said Harry. "Or both," said Neville.

But as all they knew for sure about the mysterious object was that it was important and heavily guarded, they didn't have much chance of guessing what it was without further clues.

If Hermione had the slightest interest in what lay underneath the dog and the trapdoor, she didn't show it. All she cared about was that they hadn't been discovered.

Hermione was now refusing to speak to Harry on the whole, but she was such a bossy know-it-all that Ron saw this as an added bonus. Harry did seem a bit guilty about it, but he agreed that she would just have to deal with it. All they all really wanted now was a way of getting back at Draco, and to their great delight, just such a thing arrived in the mail about a week later.

As the owls flooded into the Great Hall as usual, everyone's attention was caught at once by a long, thin package carried by six large screech owls. Neville was just as interested as everyone else to see what was in this large parcel, and was amazed when the owls soared down and dropped it right in front of him, knocking his bacon to the floor. They had hardly fluttered out of the way when another owl dropped a letter on top of the parcel.

Harry ripped open the letter first, which was lucky, because it said:

DO NOT OPEN THE PARCEL AT THE TABLE. It contains your new Nimbus Two Thousand, but I don't want everybody knowing you've got a broomstick or they'll be trouble and Minnie will have my head.. You've got special permission to use it. Oliver Wood will meet you tonight on the Quidditch field at seven o'clock for your first training session. I'm proud of you, son.

—Dad

P.S. Your mom says you're grounded for breaking the rules when you get home. Make sure you share your broomstick with Neville.

Harry had difficulty hiding his glee as Neville read it aloud over his shoulder.

"A Nimbus Two Thousand!" Ron moaned enviously. "I've never even touched one."

"You can touch mine." Harry promised. "You can even ride it a bit."

Neville thought Ron's grin was going to split open his face.

They left the hall quickly, wanting to unwrap the broomstick in private before their first class, but halfway across the entrance hall they found the way upstairs barred by Crabbe and Goyle. Harry allowed Draco to seize the package and feel it.

"That's a broomstick," he said, throwing it back to Harry with a mixture of jealousy and shock on his face. "You'll be in for it this time, Harry, first years aren't allowed them."

Neville couldn't resist it.

"It's not any old broomstick," he said, "It's a Nimbus Two Thousand. What do you still have at home, Draco, a Comet Two Sixty?"

Ron grinned. "Comets look flashy, but they're not in the same league as the Nimbus."

"What would you know about it, Weasley, you couldn't afford half the handle," Draco shot back. "I suppose you and your brothers have to save up twig by twig."

Before Ron could answer, Professor Flitwick appeared at Draco's elbow.

"Not arguing, I hope, boys?" he squeaked.

"Potter's been sent a broomstick, Professor," said Draco quickly, shooting Harry a look like, 'You're too daring.'

"Yes, yes, that's right," said Professor Flitwick, beaming at Harry. "Professor McGonagall told me all about the special circumstances, Potter. And what model is it?"

"A Nimbus Two Thousand, sir," said Harry with a smirk. Neville tried not to laugh at the look of horror on Draco's face. "And it's partly thanks to Draco here that I've been allowed to bring it," he added.

Harry, Ron and Neville headed upstairs, smothering their laughter at Draco's obvious shock and confusion. "Well, it's true," Harry chortled as they reached the top of the marble staircase, "If he hadn't dropped my Remembrall, McGonagall would've punished me instead of putting me on the team..."

"So I suppose you think that's a reward for breaking rules?" came an angry voice from just behind them. Hermione was stomping up the stairs, looking disapprovingly at the package in Harry's hands.

"I didn't expect one." scoffed Harry.

"Besides, I thought you weren't speaking to us?" said Neville.

"Yes, don't stop now," said Ron, "it's doing us so much good."

Hermione marched away with her nose in the air.

Neville had a lot of trouble keeping his mind on his lessons that day. It kept wandering up to the dormitory where the new Nimbus Two Thousand was lying under his bed, or straying off to the Quidditch field where they might actually get to play properly that night. He barely noticed what he was eating at dinner, and then the three of them rushed upstairs to unwrap the Nimbus Two Thousand at last.

"Wow," Ron sighed, as the broomstick rolled onto Harry's bedspread.

It certainly would look wonderful to anyone. Sleek and shiny, with a mahogany handle, it had a long tail of neat, straight twigs and Nimbus Two Thousand written in gold near the top.

As seven o'clock drew nearer, Harry left the castle earlier and set off in the dusk toward the Quidditch field.

Obviously too eager to try out his broomstick in an actual Quidditch field to wait for Wood, Harry mounted his broomstick and kicked off from the ground. Ron stared in awe as he sped off.

"He's really good at it, isn't he?" said Neville, coming up next to him. "That's how he achieved that over-inflated ego of his. That and how all the adults absolutely spoil him. I think it happens to all the Potters, being the only child can do that to you."

Ron had stopped staring maybe halfway through this to stare at him.

"It's true, I guess." said Ron, not really looking sure.

"No offense Ron, but comparing you and Harry should be proof enough. You're too unsure of yourself and that's mostly because you've got five older brothers that are all trying to prove themselves as much as you."

Ron looked a bit wary. "I always forget how you know so much about my family. It still feels weird thinking that I'm related to The Boy Who Lived."

Neville wrinkled his nose. "And it still feels weird having people address me like that. Honestly, it's not such a big deal. Not yet, anyway."

"Not yet?"

"When Voldyshorts comes back. Then it'll be a big deal."

"You mean Voldermort." corrected Ron. Then he gave a horrified look and put his hand over his mouth. Neville laughed. That was a trick he and Harry often pulled on people to show them that it wasn't hard to say Voldermort's name.

"Yes, Voldermort." he emphasized. Ron still flinched slightly at the name. "It's no big deal, really Ron. You said it awhile ago and he didn't jump out to attack you or anything."

"I-I suppose not." said Ron, going a bit red. "But, well, what do you mean come back? He's dead. You killed him."

Neville shrugged. "James and Lily Potter say that he might come back. In fact, they said Dumbledore told them that. Mad as he may be, I believe him."

Ron looked skeptical, but Neville was firm on this matter. It wasn't that he wanted Voldermort to come back, far from it! But he did believe that he would one day.

"Hey guys." said Harry from the doorway. He was red-cheeked and panting slightly, and his hair was messier than ever since he had probably just gotten off his broomstick awhile ago.

He propped his broomstick up next to his bed and flopped down on it himself.

"Sorry you guys didn't get to ride it today." he said through his pillow. "But it was awesome. The fastest I've ever gone."

"You seem tired." Neville teased, though he did feel a bit jealous that Harry got to be on the team and he didn't.

"Never trained so hard before." he admitted. "I'll just— zzz..."

Ron stared at him as if he couldn't believe Harry wasn't just pretending to have fallen asleep halfway through speaking.

"It's normal." Neville assured him, before blanking out on his own bed.

Perhaps it was because they were now so busy, what with Quidditch privileges during Harry's practices three evenings a week on top of all their homework, but Neville could hardly believe it when he realized that he'd already been at Hogwarts two months. The castle felt more like home than he would have ever thought possible. His lessons, too, were becoming more and more interesting now that they had mastered the basics.

On Halloween morning they woke to the delicious smell of baking pumpkin wafting through the corridors. Even better, Professor Flitwick announced in Charms that he thought they were ready to start making objects fly, something they had all been dying to try since they'd seen him make Ron's rat Cottonball zoom around the classroom. Professor Flitwick put the class into pairs to practice. Neville's partner was Hermione Granger, unfortunately. Ron, however, was to be working with Harry. It wasn't necessarily a good thing, either, but Neville felt that he might've gotten the worst end of the deal. Besides, she hadn't spoken to any of them since the day Harry's Nimbus Two Thousand had arrived.

"Now, don't forget that nice wrist movement we've been practicing!" squeaked Professor Flitwick, perched on top of his pile of books as usual. "Swish and flick, remember, swish and flick. And saying the magic words properly is very important, too — never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 'f' instead of 's' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest."

It was very difficult, but then, almost any spell that he and Harry hadn't practiced long beforehand was usually quite difficult for him. At the next table, Harry had obviously managed to get it perfectly on his first try. Neville found himself longing for him to be there coaching him as he used to, and was rather relieved when Hermione couldn't help herself from spouting knowledge anymore. She shocked her head, saying in that know-it-all voice of hers, "You're saying it wrong, it's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa. Make the 'gar' nice and long."

Neville tried. His feather remained stubbornly on the desk.

Ron wasn't having much more luck.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouted, waving his long arms like a windmill.

"You're saying it wrong," Harry drawled as he experimentally wrote words in the air like glowing letters on an invisible chalkboard.

"You do it, then, if you're so clever," Ron growled, forgetting that Harry already had.

Harry yawned, lazily flicked his wand, and said, "Wingardium Leviosa!"

Their feather rose off the desk and hovered about four feet above their heads.

Ron was in a very bad mood by the end of the class.

"Cheer up." said Neville. "It was a rather hard spell. You weren't the only one, I didn't manage to do it either, loads of us couldn't."

"I suppose I don't care much, then." Ron decided in an attempt to make himself happier.

"You won't get very far with that sort of attitude." retorted Hermione, coming up from behind them. "Especially since you're already as bad as it is."

Harry and Neville glared at her as Ron's face went red from the truth of it.

"It's no wonder no one can stand you," Harry said icily. Neville was rather surprised that he was standing up for Ron so, but Hermione had been pretty rude after all, and all Potters were intensely loyal. "You're a nightmare, honestly."

Hermione forced a glare and hurried past him. Neville caught a glimpse of her face — and was startled to see that she was in tears.

"I think she was pretty upset about that."

"So?" said Harry, looking defiant but a bit guilty. "What she said to Ronald was horrid. Anyway, she must've noticed she's got no friends."

Ron flinched at his full name but for once didn't complain about Harry using it. He had just told off a girl he was once friends with just to defend him after all.

Hermione didn't turn up for the next class and wasn't seen all afternoon. On their way down to the Great Hall for the Halloween feast, Harry and Neville overheard Parvati Patil telling her friend Lavender that Hermione was crying in the girls' bathroom and wanted to be left alone. Harry looked still more awkward at this, but a moment later they had entered the Great Hall, where the Halloween decorations put Hermione out of their minds.

A thousand live bats fluttered from the walls and ceiling while a thousand more swooped over the tables in low black clouds, making the candles in the pumpkins stutter. The feast appeared suddenly on the golden plates, as it had at the start-of-term banquet.

Neville was just helping himself to a baked potato when Professor Quirrell came sprinting into the hall, his turban askew and terror on his face. Everyone stared as he reached Professor Dumbledore's chair, slumped against the table, and gasped, "Troll — in the dungeons — thought you ought to know."

He then sank to the floor in a dead faint.

There was an uproar. It took several purple firecrackers exploding from the end of Professor Dumbledore's wand to bring silence.

"Prefects," he rumbled, "lead your Houses back to the dormitories immediately!"

Percy was in his element.

"Follow me! Stick together, first years! No need to fear the troll if you follow my orders! Stay close behind me, now. Make way, first years coming through! Excuse me, I'm a prefect!"

"How could a troll get in?" Neville asked Harry as they climbed the stairs. "I thought you said they're supposed to be really stupid."

"Don't ask me." said Harry. "Maybe Peeves let it in for a Halloween joke."

They passed different groups of people hurrying in different directions. As they jostled their way through a crowd of confused Hufflepuffs, Harry suddenly grabbed Neville's arm.

"I've just thought — Hermione." he looked horrified.

Ron frowned. "What about her?"

Neville suddenly caught on. "She doesn't know about the troll."

Harry nodded worriedly, biting his lip.

Ron and Neville exchanged looks. "Oh, I suppose that's all that we can do and we can't talk you out of it." Neville decided.

Ron nodded slowly. "But Percy'd better not see us." he amended.

Ducking down, they joined the Hufflepuffs going the other way, slipped down a deserted side corridor, and hurried off toward the girls' bathroom. They had just turned the corner when they heard quick footsteps behind them.

"Percy!" hissed Ron, Harry pulled them behind a large stone griffin.

Peering around it, however, they saw not Percy but Snape. He crossed the corridor and disappeared from view.

"What's he doing?" Harry whispered. "Why isn't he down in the dungeons with the rest of the teachers?"

"Search me." said Ron. "But you trust Snape too much, there's something up with him."

Harry huffed and Neville decided to lead them on before they started arguing about something like this in the middle of an important mission.

Quietly as possible, they crept along the next corridor after Snape's fading footsteps.

"He's heading for the third floor," Ron pointed out, but Neville held up his hand.

"Can you smell something?"

A foul stench had reached his nostrils, a mixture of old socks and the kind of public toilet no one seems to clean.

And then they heard it — a low grunting, and the shuffling footfalls of gigantic feet. Harry pointed — at the end of a passage to the left, something huge was moving toward them. They shrank into the shadows and watched as it emerged into a patch of moonlight.

It was a horrible sight. Twelve feet tall, its skin was a dull, granite gray, its great lumpy body like a boulder with its small bald head perched on top like a coconut. It had short legs thick as tree trunks with flat, horny feet. The smell coming from it was incredible. It was holding a huge wooden club, which dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.

The troll stopped next to a doorway and peered inside. It waggled its long ears, making up its tiny mind, then slouched slowly into the room.

"The keys in the lock," Harry muttered. "We could lock it in."

"Good idea," said Ron nervously.

Neville couldn't help thinking there was something wrong without this plan that they weren't thinking through. He was especially worried because they weren't even being as cautious as they normally were (which really isn't much at all) because Harry seemed to be much more reckless as of now.

They edged toward the open door, mouths dry, praying the troll wasn't about to come out of it. With one great leap, Neville managed to grab the key, slam the door, and lock it.

'Yes!" said Ron

Flushed with their victory, they started to run back up the passage, but before they reached the corner, Harry stopped them. He had suddenly gone pale.

"What's wrong?" asked Ron, confused.

Harry communicated with Neville through his eyes, and his heart suddenly dropped.

"It was the girls' bathroom, wasn't it?" he said in despair. Ron gasped.

As if in confirmation, a high, petrified scream came from the chamber they'd just chained up.

"Oh, no," said Ron, pale as the Bloody Baron.

It jerked them back into reality.

"Hermione!" they all said together.

It was the last thing they wanted to do (okay, the last thing Neville and Ron wanted to do, Harry was all for a good adventure) but what choice did they have? Wheeling around, they sprinted back to the door. Harry turned the key, fumbling in his panic., and pulled the door open from them all to run inside.

Hermione Granger was shrinking against the wall opposite, looking as if she was about to faint. The troll was advancing on her, knocking the sinks off the walls as it went.

"Confuse it!" Harry cried desperately.

Neville hurriedly seized a tap and he threw it as hard as he could against the wall.

The troll stopped a few feet from Hermione. It lumbered around, blinking stupidly, to see what had made the noise. Its mean little eyes saw Neville. It hesitated, then made for him instead, lifting its club as it went.

"Oy, pea-brain!" yelled Ron from the other side of the chamber, and he threw a metal pipe at it. The troll didn't even seem to notice the pipe hitting its shoulder, but it heard the yell and paused again, turning its ugly snout toward Ron instead, giving Neville time to run around it.

"Come on, run, run!" Harry yelled at Hermione, trying to pull her toward the door, but she couldn't move, she was still flat against the wall, her mouth open with terror.

The shouting and the echoes seemed to be driving the troll berserk. It roared again and started toward Ron, who was nearest and had no way to escape.

Neville then did something that was both very brave and very stupid: He took a great running jump and managed to fasten his arms around the troll's neck from behind.

The troll appeared to have steering. If it was moving and it's head turned left, it moved left. Neville yanked it's lumpy ears and it moved away from Ron and then stopped, looking confused. It managed to turn and growl at Harry and Hermione.

Harry plain gave up on pulling Hermione and just picked her up, swung her over his shoulder, ducked under the failing club, and ran out.

Neville tried to turn him away. The troll suddenly seemed to notice what was going on, and it twisted and flailed it's club, with Neville clinging on for dear life; any second, the troll was going to rip him off or catch him a terrible blow with the club.

Shocked but desperate to help, Ron pulled out his own wand — not knowing what he was going to do he heard himself cry the first spell that came into his head: "Wingardium Leviosa!"

The club flew suddenly out of the troll's hand, rose high, high up into the air, turned slowly over — and dropped, with a sickening crack, onto its owner's head. The troll swayed on the spot and then fell flat on its face, with a thud that made the whole room tremble.

Neville got to his feet. He was shaking and out of breath. Ron was standing there with his wand still raised, staring at what he had done.

It was Ron who spoke first.

"Is it — dead?"

"I don't think so," said Neville, "I think it's just been knocked out."

A sudden slamming and loud footsteps made the three of them look up. They hadn't realized what a racket they had been making, but of course, someone downstairs must have heard the crashes and the troll's roars. A moment later, Professor McGonagall had come bursting into the bathroom, closely followed by Snape, with Quirrell bringing up the rear. Quirrell took one look at the troll, let out a faint whimper, and sat quickly down on a toilet, clutching his heart.

Snape bent over the troll. Professor McGonagall was looking at Ron and Neville. Neville had never seen her look so angry. Her lips were white. Hopes of winning fifty points for Gryffindor faded quickly from Neville's mind. She motioned for them to follow her out.

Harry and Hermione were sitting on the floor outside. Hermione still looked shocked and white. Harry, for once, seemed to be scared of their venture, practically hyperventilating and bracing himself aginast the wall even if he didn't do much (except for take Hermione out from under the troll's nose but then he just left them to do all the fighting).

"What on earth were you thinking of?" said Professor McGonagall said to them all, with cold fury in her voice. Neville glanced at Ron, who still had his wand in the air. "You're lucky you weren't killed. Why aren't you in your dormitory?"

Neville looked at the floor. This was terrible. Of all the things Harry and him had done, none of them had been this dangerous. They were going to get into actual trouble now. He wished Ron would put his wand down.

Then a small voice came out of the shadows.

"Please, Professor McGonagall — they were looking for me."

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione had managed to get to her feet at last.

"I went looking for the troll because I — I thought I could deal with it on my own — you know, because I've read all about them."

Ron dropped his wand. Hermione Granger, telling a downright lie to a teacher?

"No." said Harry, scrambling to get to his feet. "He didn't—"

Neville stepped on his foot to get him to shut up.

"If they hadn't found me, I'd be dead now." Hermione continued as if she hadn't heard them. "I was so petrified, especially when I dropped my wand, Harry had to carry me out while Neville and Ron tried to fight it. They didn't have time to come and fetch anyone. It was about to finish me off when they arrived."

Harry looked at Neville angrily.

'You can't leave her to take all the blame.' he said with his eyes. 'It was her fault least of all.'

'It was her choice.' Neville argued back. 'You've wanted to do the same many times.'

'That's different. That's when I was usually pulling a prank or sneaking out and you agreed to do it with me, so I was mostly to blame. Hermione isn't.'

'Look, it's not your fault this time.'

'Now that I can think straight, we could've avoided it if we hadn't locked the troll in.'

'It's not exactly our fault.'

'Then we should all take the blame. Or, how hard can it be to just tell the truth? For once we weren't exactly doing anything bad.'

'Do you want to lose Gryffindor more points?'

'...'

'That's what I thought. Just this once, okay?'

"Well — in that case..." Professor McGonagall was saying, staring at the three of them, "Miss Granger, you foolish girl, how could you think of tackling a mountain troll on your own?"

Hermione hung her head. Harry was looking miserable again.

On the whole, Neville was still shocked. Hermione was the last person to do anything against the rules, and here she was, pretending she had, to get them out of trouble.

"Miss Granger, five points will be taken from Gryffindor for this," said Professor McGonagall. "I'm very disappointed in you. If you're not hurt at all, you'd better get off to Gryffindor tower. Students are finishing the feast in their houses."

Only five? Neville thought.

Hermione left.

Professor McGonagall turned to Ron, Harry, and Neville.

"Well, I still say you were lucky, but not many first years could have taken on a full-grown mountain troll. You each win Gryffindor five points. Professor Dumbledore will be informed of this. You may go."

They hurried out of the chamber and didn't speak at all until they had climbed two floors up. It was a relief to be away from the smell of the troll, quite apart from anything else.

"We should have gotten more than fifteen points," Neville sighed. "I suppose she didn't want to accidentally encourage us to do something like this again."

"Ten, you mean, once she's taken off Hermione's." Harry grumbled.

"Good of her to get us out of trouble like that," Ron admitted. "Mind you, we did save her."

"She might not have needed saving if we hadn't locked the thing in with her," Harry reminded him.

They had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Pig snout," they said and entered.

The common room was packed and noisy. Everyone was eating the food that had been sent up. Hermione, however, stood alone by the door, waiting for them. There was a very embarrassing pause, something that doesn't often happen around Potters. Then, none of them looking at each other, they all said "Thanks," and hurried off to get plates.

But from that moment on, Hermione Granger became their friend once again, and this time with all of them, and not just because Harry was smart and took his studies seriously. There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and saving someone from a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them. And there are also some friendships you simply can't gain until you've done just that.


	8. Dark Magic

**I just realized I forgot all about Remus! This will be changed soon though, don't worry.**

* * *

**Disclaimer: All rights go to J.K. Rowling.**

* * *

Neville Longbottom, The Philosopher's Stone, Chapter 8: Dark Magic

As they entered November, the weather turned very cold. The mountains around the school became icy gray and the lake like chilled steel. Every morning the ground was covered in frost. Hagrid could be seen from the upstairs windows defrosting broomsticks on the Quidditch field, bundled up in a long moleskin overcoat, rabbit fur gloves, and enormous beaverskin boots.

The Quidditch season had begun. On Saturday, Harry would be playing in his first real match after weeks of training: Gryffindor versus Slytherin. If Gryffindor won, they would move up into second place in the house championship.

Hardly anyone had seen Harry play in school because Wood had decided that, as their secret weapon, Harry should be kept, well, secret. But the news that he was playing Seeker had leaked out obviously, and a lot of people had high hopes for the son of their previous marauder Quidditch star.

It was really lucky that Neville and Ron now had Hermlone as a friend. They didn't know how they could've have gotten through all the homework without her, what with Harry being so busy with his Quidditch. Harry had even become re-obsessed with Quidditch Through the Ages, and kept spouting facts every now and then. Neville noticed his behavior pointing to the fact that he was getting nervous for once.

The three of them learned from him that there were seven hundred ways of committing a Quidditch foul and that all of them had happened during a World Cup match in 1473; that Seekers were usually the smallest and fastest players, and that most serious Quidditch accidents seemed to happen to them; that although people rarely died playing Quidditch, referees had been known to vanish and turn up months later in the Sahara Desert.

Hermione had become a bit more relaxed about breaking rules since Harry, Neville and Ron had saved her from the mountain troll, and she was much nicer for it. The day before Harry's first Quidditch match the three of them were out in the freezing courtyard during break, Harry had conjured them up a bright blue fire that could be carried around in a jam jar and she didn't say a word about it. They were standing with their backs to it, getting warm, when Snape crossed the yard. Neville noticed at once that Snape was limping. Filch soon appeared after him. Neville, Harry, Ron, and Hermione moved closer together to block the fire from view; they were sure it wouldn't be allowed. Unfortunately, something about their guilty faces probably caught Filch's eye. He limped over. He hadn't seen the fire, but he seemed to be looking for a reason to tell them off anyway.

"What's that you've got there, Potter?"

It was Quidditch Through the Ages. Harry showed him.

"Library books are not to be taken outside the school," said Filch. "Give it to me."

"It's another one of his made-up rules," Harry muttered angrily as Filch stalked away. "No one ever checks that list in his office, but you actually can't call it an official rule if it's not in the latest edition of the Hogwarts Students' Handbook, as stated—"

"Yeah, yeah, we don't need page references." Neville interrupted him.

"Did you see Snape?" Hermione asked thoughtfully. "Wonder what's wrong with his leg?"

"Dunno, but I hope it's really hurting him," said Ron flippantly. Harry glared at him.

The Gryffindor common room was very noisy that evening. Harry, Neville, Ron, and Hermione sat together next to a window. Hermione was checking Neville and Ron's Charms homework for them. She would never let them copy ("How will you learn?"), but Harry answered any question they asked him, so they got the right answers anyway.

Harry restlessly pacing around the room. Neville could tell he was nervous. Despite the confident attitude and major ego of his, this would be the first time Harry would achieve something for real. His first chance to live up to the name he had. The ambitious boy would be crestfallen if he failed.

He needed Quidditch Through the Ages back (any book, really, but he was so obsessed with Quidditch that no other book would work quite as well), to take his mind off his nerves about tomorrow. Why should they be afraid of Filch anyway?

Neville stood up. "I think we should go ask Filch for that book back."

Ron hesitated before getting up. "Okay, I guess so."

They both looked pointedly at Hermione, who sighed and nodded.

"I can't." stressed Harry. "I haven't yet finished my Transfiguration essay, you'll have to go without me."

Usually, Harry probably would've beaten Hermione in a race to finish any assignment, but he had been so distracted off the pitch these few days that writing an essay just wasn't working for him. Not that Harry would ever admit either being nervous about the match or lacking in his academic skills.

"We'll go get it back." Neville said firmly as Hermione and Ron looked like they wanted to protest. He grabbed the invisibility cloak and led the way out of the common room.

Filch probably wouldn't want to give them back the book, but Neville had an idea that he wouldn't refuse if there were teachers listening.

He made his way down to the staffroom and knocked. There was no answer. He knocked again. Nothing.

"Maybe we should—" whatever Hermione might have been about to suggest was cut off by Ron.

"Perhaps Filch has left the book in there? It's worth a try." he encouraged.

Neville pushed the door slightly ajar and peered inside — and a horrible scene met his eyes.

Snape and Filch were inside, alone. Snape was holding his robes above his knees. One of his legs was bloody and mangled. Filch was handing Snape bandages.

"Blasted thing," Snape was saying. "How are you supposed to keep your eyes on all three heads at once?"

Both Ron and Hemione let out barely audible gasps, but Snape must've heard because he swung round to stare in the direction of the three students. Neville was glad for the invisibility cloak and quickly nudged them aside.

"Was someone eavesdropping, Professor?" Filch sneered, coming up beside him.

"The door is open, it seems so." came the reply. Both adults came out of the staffroom and down the corridor in search of the eavesdroppers.

Neville pulled the cloak away from Hermione and Ron and quickly ducked inside. He opened Filch's first drawer where there was nothing but papers, and then the second drawer where he found Quidditch Through The Ages and swiped it from the top.

"I've got it." Neville hissed, making the two accomplices jump.

"Don't sneak up on us like that again!" Hermione whispered as the footsteps began clopping back. "Hurry now, we've got to go quickly but quietly. It would've been so much easier if you'd brought your Marauders' Map!"

"That was silly of me to forget." he muttered so as to not let whoever else it was hear. "But we don't use the Marauders' Map nearly as much as we use this cloak. The Map is only useful in Hogwarts, after all."

Ron shushed them. "Quiet, we can talk when we get back to the dorm."

Hermione seemed to nod. "Yes, maybe Harry can figure this all out!" Neville could practically hear the smile in her voice.

"I doubt it." Ron muttered, leading both Neville and Hermione to glare at him, even though he couldn't see them because of the invisibility cloak.

A shadow loomed through the corridor. They froze as Snape limped back past them, but relaxed slightly when he didn't seem to notice them.

"Did you get it?" Harry asked eagerly as they joined him. Then he noticed the worried expressions they all now wore. "What's the matter?"

Neville looked around a bit and shook his head. "Let's go to our dorm, for a little privacy."

They all trudged upstairs, Harry following them with a puzzled frown.

They each sat down on their own bunk (Hermione sat on Harry's) as said person locked the door and cast muffliato on them.

"That'll do." said Harry with a nod. For once, Neville felt he wasn't being too over-paranoid. He turned to look at the three of them with his hands on his hips. "Now what is it that you wanted to tell me?"

Quickly, each filling in different parts, they told Harry what they'd seen.

"You know what this means?" Ron finished breathlessly. "He tried to get past that three-headed dog at Halloween! That's where he was going when we saw him — he's after whatever it's guarding! And I'd bet my broomstick he let that troll in, to make a diversion!"

Hermione's eyes were wide. "Oh—"

"No — he wouldn't," Harry snapped. "I know neither of you like him, for some reason, but he would never do anything like that! Especially try and steal something Dumbledore was keeping safe."

"Honestly, Harry, you trust that git too much," Ron snapped back irritably. "I for one wouldn't put anything past Snape."

"You shut your mouth, Snape has been nothing but decent to you ever since the start of the year so you've got bloody nothing to complain about!" Harry yelled, pointing his wand at him. Ron went pale at the obvious threat.

Neville jumped up and pried his wand away from him.

"For the love of Merlin!" Harry cried. "Neville, don't tell me you agree with him!"

Neville, for the most part of this conversation, had remained quiet, which was not quite like him. However, anyone who knew him really well would know he was more calm and quiet because Harry was raging at Ron. The two boys were like a balanced scale, each evening out the other.

"Harry, be reasonable—" Hermione started.

That seemed to be the last straw for Harry. He yelled something incomprehensionable (probably along the lines of 'two-faced prejudiced devils') and ran out of the room.

Hermione, now standing as well, looked mighty awkward. As did Ron, as well as looking a bit guilty.

Neville was nothing if not confused. He had grown up with Professor Snape coddling after Harry (and him of course) and couldn't imagine for the life of him how Professor Snape could possibly be the villain here. Even if he was probably smack in the middle of it.

"Where did Harry go?" Hermione asked uncertainly. "It's almost curfew."

Neville knew quite well Hermione didn't quite mind him breaking curfew anymore, since he did so often anyways, it was the fact that he was breaking curfew alone that got her worried.

He noticed both of them were looking at him expectantly.

"Well?" said Ron quizzically. "Aren't you going to use the map?"

Neville frowned. The Marauders' Map was currently hidden at the bottom of his trunk, and he had no intention of taking it out now.

"Harry wants some alone time." he told them seriously, before turning around and falling asleep himself.

Harry went to bed, quite a lot later, with his head buzzing with question that was driving him crazy. Why? Why did Snape have have that wound, why would he confront the dog? Neville was snoring loudly, but Harry couldn't sleep. He tried to empty his mind — he needed to sleep, he had to, he had his first Quidditch match in a few hours — but the expression on Neville's face when he had taken Harry's wand away wasn't easy to forget. He knew he had snapped, he knew his temper had flared, and he knew when that happened he got dangerous.

Now was not the right time to be dangerous.

The next morning dawned very bright and cold. The Great Hall was full of the delicious smell of fried sausages and the cheer ful chatter of everyone looking forward to a good Quidditch match.

"You've got to eat some breakfast."

"I don't want anything."

"Just a bit of toast," Neville pleaded. Harry was a picky eater, this wasn't the first time he had to do so.

"I'm not hungry."

Harry held his head high and spoke calmly despite the obvious nerves. Neville knew just by how he spoke really calmly and steadily that he felt terrible. In an hour's time Harry'll be walking onto the field.

"Harry, you need your strength," said Ron. "Seekers are always the ones who get clobbered by the other team."

"Thanks, Ronald," said Harry, without his usual sarcasm.

"Not that you'll get clobbered, of course." he quickly corrected. "Since you're—"

"You'll do great, Harry." Neville stated, putting an arm around him the way Harry would usually do when the roles were reversed. "You've been preparing for this for years, remember? You always know you can do it. No need to be afraid now."

Harry nodded warily.

By eleven o'clock the whole school seemed to be out in the stands around the Quidditch pitch. Many students had binoculars. The seats might be raised high in the air, but it was still difficult to see what was going on sometimes.

Neville, Ron and Hermione joined Seamus Finnigan and Dean the West Ham fan up in the top row. As a surprise for Harry, they had painted a large banner on one of the sheets Cottontail had ruined. It said Potter for President, and Neville, who wasn't bad at drawing, had done a large Gryffindor lion underneath. Then Hermione had performed a tricky little charm so that the paint flashed different colors, and Ron had cast one that made it hover in the air.

Meanwhile, in the locker room, Harry and the rest of the team were changing into their scarlet Quidditch robes (Slytherin would be playing in green, obviously).

Wood cleared his throat for silence.

"Okay, men," he said.

"And women," said Chaser Angelina Johnson.

"And women," Wood agreed. "This is it."

"The big one," said Travis Weasley.

"The one we've all been waiting for," said Connor.

"We know Oliver's speech by heart," Travis told Harry, "we were on the team last year."

"Shut up, you two," said Wood. "This is the best team Gryffindor's had in years. We're going to win. I know it."

He glared at them all as if to say, "Or else."

"Right. It's time. Good luck, all of you."

Harry followed Travis and Connor out of the locker room and, hoping his knees weren't going to give way, walked onto the field to loud cheers.

Madam Hooch was refereeing. She stood in the middle of the field waiting for the two teams, her broom in her hand.

"Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," she said, once they were all gathered around her. Neville noticed that she seemed to be speaking particularly to the Slytherin Captain, Marcus Flint, a sixth year. Neville thought Flint looked as if he had some troll blood in him. He saw Harry glimpse at them briefly before his eyes widened and Neville knew he had seen the banner.

"Mount your brooms, please."

Harry clambered onto his Nimbus Two Thousand.

Madam Hooch gave a loud blast on her silver whistle.

Fifteen brooms rose up, high, high into the air. They were off. "And the Quaffle is taken immediately by Angelina Johnson of Gryffindor — what an excellent Chaser that girl is, and rather attractive, too —"

"JORDAN!"

"Sorry, Professor."

Neville laughed. The Weasley twins' friend, Lee Jordan, was doing the commentary for the match, closely watched by Professor McGonagall.

"And she's really belting along up there, a neat pass to Alicia Spinnet, a good find of Oliver Wood's, last year only a reserve — back to Johnson and — no, the Slytherins have taken the Quaffle, Slytherin Captain Marcus Flint gains the Quaffle and off he goes — Flint flying like an eagle up there — he's going to sc- no, stopped by an excellent move by Gryffindor Keeper Wood and the Gryffindors take the Quaffle — that's Chaser Katie Bell of Gryffindor there, nice dive around Flint, off up the field and — OUCH — that must have hurt, hit in the back of the head by a Bludger — Quaffle taken by the Slytherins — that's Adrian Pucey speeding off toward the goal posts, but he's blocked by a second Bludger — sent his way by Travis or Connor Weasley, can't tell which — nice play by the Gryffindor Beater, anyway, and Johnson back in possession of the Quaffle, a clear field ahead and off she goes — she's really flying — dodges a speeding Bludger — the goal posts are ahead — come on, now, Angelina — Keeper Bletchley dives — misses — GRYFFINDORS SCORE!"

Gryffindor cheers filled the cold air, with howls and moans from the Slytherins.

Hermione didn't seem to be listening quite as much. She was stretching herself as far as she could go without standing up and staring into the sky. "No sign of the Snitch yet?" she asked, thoughtfully.

"Nope, but that's not odd," said Ron. "though Harry hasn't had much to do yet."

"He's kept out of trouble, though, that's something," said Neville, raising his head and peering skyward at the speck that was Harry.

Way up above them, Harry was gliding over the game, squinting about for some sign of the Snitch. This was part of his and Wood's game plan.

"Keep out of the way until you catch sight of the Snitch," Wood had said. "We don't want you attacked before you have to be."

Blah blah blah, his mind had gone, tell me something I don't usually do.

When Angelina had scored, Harry seemed to have done a couple of loop-the-loops to celebrate/show off. Now he was back to staring around for the Snitch. Once a Bludger decided to come pelting his way, more like a cannonball than anything, but Harry dodged it and Travis Weasley came chasing after it.

"All right there, Harry?" he yelled loudly, as he beat the Bludger furiously toward Marcus Flint.

"Slytherin in possession," Lee Jordan was saying, "Chaser Pucey ducks two Bludgers, two Weasleys, and Chaser Bell, and speeds toward the — wait a moment — was that the Snitch?"

A murmur ran through the crowd as Adrian Pucey dropped the Quaffle, too busy looking over his shoulder at the flash of gold that had passed his left ear.

Harry saw it. H dived downward after the streak of gold. Slytherin Seeker Terence Higgs had seen it, too. Neck and neck they hurtled toward the Snitch — all the Chasers seemed to have forgotten what they were supposed to be doing as they hung in midair to watch.

Harry was faster than Higgs — he could make it in time — only a few metros left — he put on an extra spurt of speed —

WHAM! A roar of rage echoed from the Gryffindors below — Marcus Flint had blocked Harry on purpose, and Harry quickly corn ere off.

"Foul!" screamed the Gryffindors.

Madam Hooch spoke angrily to Flint and then ordered a free shot at the goal posts for Gryffindor. But in all the confusion, of course, the Golden Snitch had disappeared from sight again.

Down in the stands, Dean Thomas was yelling, "Send him off, ref! Red card!"

"What are you talking about, Dean?" said Ron.

"Red card!" said Neville explained furiously. "In muggle soccer you get shown the red card and you're out of the game!"

"But this isn't soccer, you two," Ron reminded them.

Neville fumed. "Off all the lousy rules of Quidditch—"

Hermione, luckily, was on their side.

"They ought to change the rules. Flint could have knocked Harry out of the air."

Ron nodded, looking miffed. "Well, yeah, but this is how we roll in Quidditch."

Lee Jordan was finding it difficult not to take sides.

"So — after that obvious and disgusting bit of cheating—"

"Jordan!" growled Professor McGonagall.

"I mean, after that open and revolting foul—"

"Jordan, I'm warning you—"

"All right, all right. Flint nearly kills the Gryffindor Seeker, which could happen to anyone, I'm sure, so a penalty to Gryffindor, taken by Spinner, who puts it away, no trouble, and we continue play, Gryffindor still in possession."

Even though he knew Quidditch was dangerous, Neville had been too busy thinking positive for Harry to worry. Now, as Harry swerved again he again, he almost regretted encouraging him.

Neville watched as Harry dodged another Bludger, which went spinning dangerously past his head. Enraged, he stood from his seat in the stands, that promptly collapsed.

His head was fuzzy. His eyesight was blurry. He couldn't think.

"Help." he muttered with all his strength.

Everything went black.

Lee was still commentating.

"Slytherin in possession — Flint with the Quaffle — passes Spinnet — passes Bell — hit hard in the face by a Bludger, hope it broke his nose — only joking, Professor — Slytherins score — no...

The Slytherins were cheering. No one seemed to have noticed that Neville was lying unconscious on the floor.

Suddenly, Harry shot towards the stands from high above. His face was full of worry, anger, and fiery determination.

"What's Harry doing?" Hermione muttered as the crowd descended into whispers. "Do you think maybe the Snitch is nearby here Neville or—" she broke off. "Neville!"

The four first-year Gryffindors stared down and gasped. Neville was shaking and twitching on the floor, a look of utmost pain on his face.

"What— Neville, wake up!" Ron cried, shaking him in desperation. "Get up— ow!"

Neville's hand had swung wildly and caught him on the nose, hard. His limbs were all failing around now, and both Dean and Seamus were yelling for help.

"Is it Dark Magic?" Ron suddenly asked Hermione. "This doesn't look like any jinx or illness I've ever seen, and I've seen my fair share of jinxes and illnesses."

At these words, Hermione seized Dean's binoculars, but instead of looking anywhere in the game, she started looking frantically at the crowd.

"What are you doing?" asked Ron, panic-shocked.

"I knew it," Hermione gasped, "Snape — look."

Ron grabbed the binoculars. Snape was in the middle of the stands opposite them. He had his eyes fixed on somewhere near them and was muttering nonstop under his breath.

"He's doing something — and it's hurting Neville," said Hermione.

"What should we do?"

"Leave it to me."

Before Ron could say another word, Hermione had disappeared. Ron turned the binoculars on Harry.

He was reaching the stands, and by now almost everyone could see clearly who he was heading for. Neville seemed to be whining and yelling a bit in his unconscious state, it was attracting more attention than Dean and Seamus' cries for help.

Marcus Flint seized the Quaffle and scored five times without anyone noticing.

"Come on, Hermione," Ron muttered desperately. He couldn't bear see his friend in pain much longer.

Hermione had fought her way across to the stand where Snape stood, and was now racing along the row behind him; she didn't even stop to say sorry as she knocked Professor Quirrell headfirst into the row in front. Reaching Snape, she crouched down, pulled out her wand, and whispered a few, well-chosen words. Bright blue flames shot from her wand onto the hem of Snape's robes.

It took perhaps thirty seconds for Snape to realize that he was on fire. A sudden yelp told her she had done her job. Scooping the fire off him into a little jar in her pocket, she scrambled back along the row — Snape would never know what had happened.

It was enough, or so it seemed to be. Neville stopped shaking, his body went still Ron fumbled for a heartbeat and was relieved to find that it was still there.

Harry jumped off his broom before it even stopped moving, summersaulting onto the stands and running over to Neville. This time, he wasn't showing off.

"Let me through!" he yelled, pushing through the crowd of students like the teachers had. Unlike with the teachers, they cleared a path for Harry Potter to get through.

The first thing he heard upon awakening was an overly calm voice saying, "I swear, if you both hadn't somehow just about saved my brother's life I'd've hexed you into oblivion by now."

Neville wondered if he was delirious. Then he realized it was Harry talking, and certainly not to him, so it was pretty much relatively normal.

He slowly blinked his eyes open. As always happens when one opens their eyes after some time of not, the light seemed far too bright.

"Harry?" he murmured.

Familiar arms embraced him in a hug. "Oh, thank goodness, I almost thought I lost you back there!" then he gave him a light slap on the arm. "Don't you ever scare me like that again."

Neville laughed weakly. "But, what happened? When did I get here? And… who won the game?"

Harry smiled at him. "Really? You wake up on a hospital bed with no idea what's going on and out of your first three questions you ask about Quidditch?" he shook his head and faked a sigh, making Neville roll his eyes.

"We won." he informed him. "The game ended in complete confusion and utter chaos. Dumbledore himself came down and declared the match over because of the Dark Magic at work. There was going to be a riot if we left it at a draw so he just counted the points we had already earned from the Quaffle."

Neville noticed he was still in his Quidditch robes and looked even more flustered than he had ever seen before. "But… Dark Magic? I don't understand. All I remember is a lot of pain for about ten seconds," he shuddered at the resurfaced memory. "Then you yelling something about two people saving my life and hexing into oblivion…" he trailed off and looked beyond Harry. His blurry morning eyes could make out four other figures, one obviously Hagrid.

"It was Snape," Ron's voice came from one, and his features immediately became clearer once his mind could fill in the details, "Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing you, muttering, he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

"That's ridiculous." said the figure next to him. Draco. "Snape would never do anything like that."

"It figures you would want to defend your own house master." said the third, Hermione.

"You're only jealous because he doesn't give you as much attention as the other teachers." Draco retorted.

"Why are you allowed here, anyway?" Ron interjected. "Just because you're friends with Harry doesn't mean Neville wants to see your face right after he's just recovered! You'll probably hex him with your little green snakes or something."

Draco looked ready to explode, as did Harry.

"Hey, let me decide that, will ya." Neville said a bit more clearly. "Draco would never hex me, at least not when I'm in actual trouble, and what part of 'any friend of Harry's is a friend of mine and vice-versa' do you not understand? Now quit arguing, I've just got up the least you can do is not give me a headache."

They all went quiet.

"Look, Draco," Ron said with a sigh. "We found out something about him."

Neville smiled at the thought that Ronald Weasley was going as far as to trust a Malfoy with these secrets to help him.

"He tried to get past that three-headed dog on Halloween." Ron explained. "It bit him. We think he was trying to steal whatever it's guarding."

Harry huffed.

Hagrid dropped something with a crash, making the rest of them wince. Neville could make out the shattered remains of a pink teapot on the ground.

"How do you know about Fluffy?" Hagrid demanded.

"Fluffy?" asked Hermione.

"Yeah — he's mine — bought him off a Greek chappie I met in the pub las' year — I lent him to Dumbledore to guard the—"

"Yes?" said Harry eagerly.

"Now, don't ask me anymore," said Hagrid gruffly. "That's top secret, that is."

"But Snape's trying to steal it." said Ron

"Ridiculous," said Draco again, exchanging a look with Harry (the one where Harry looks back at him and goes WE ARE NOT GOING TO EXPLAIN THE WHOLE COMPLICATED LOVE TRIANGLE THING) "Snape's a Hogwarts teacher, he'd do nothing of the sort."

"So why did he just try and kill Harry?" cried Ron. The afternoon's events certainly seemed to have made up their minds about Snape. "I know a jinx when I see one, you guys, I've read all about them! You've got to keep eye contact, and Snape wasn't blinking at all, I saw him!"

"It's the same with counter-curses, too!" Harry yelled, helping Neville to his feet as the world finally settled back into focus.

"I'm tellin' yeh, yer wrong!" said Hagrid hotly. "I don' know why that happened to Neville, but Snape wouldn' try an' kill a student! Now, listen to me, all three of yeh — yer meddlin' in things that don' concern yeh. It's dangerous. You forget that dog, an' you forget what it's guardin', that's between Professor Dumbledore an' Nicolas Flamel —"

"Aha!" said Neville, "so there's someone called Nicolas Flamel involved, is there?"

Hagrid looked furious with himself.

Madame Pomfrey suddenly stormed in. "Out! This is a hospital wing, not a debating room! You lot are all making too much noise! All of you, out now!"

When they had all finally cleared out, Madame Pomfrey checked him over before letting Neville go too. He found Draco waiting outside the door.

"Harry said he was on the way to the library." he informed him.

Neville nodded and smiled at him. "Thanks, Draco."

They exchanged brief hugs and set off in opposite directions. Clicking for these two were not exactly as simple as Harry and Draco. That strange friendship that came from two children being raised in very similar ways with very opposite beliefs, thus frienemies.

But whatever allies they had on their side, Neville knew one thing. This was not going to be a typical Marauder school year. Dark Magic was obviously stirring, and if that was so, so was Voldermort.\

* * *

**Reviews make me happy!**


End file.
